


Magic, Mayhem, and Muffins

by kazul9



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A Plant Wrote This, A twist on the Sochi banquet, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Anxiety, Baking, Chefs, Complete, Cooking, Depression, Fluff, Happy Ending, I'm bad at tags pls help me, Light Angst, M/M, Magic, Mostly fluff and Victor being ridiculous tho, so much baking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-05-24 04:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14947775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazul9/pseuds/kazul9
Summary: Yuuri’s a baker who’s subtle touch brings out the magic in his bread, and a smile to his customers’ faces. Victor’s culinary skills are renowned across the kingdom, the enchantments of his food enthralling the nation. Yuuri aspires to be like Victor, to be known by Victor, but after screwing up his one chance to impress him, he realizes there was never any hope in the first place.Or so he thinks…AKA the light fantasy magical food AU that literally no one asked for, but the professional chef and baker in me needs to write.





	1. Chapter One

They’re going to have nothing for the banquet.

_They’re going to have nothing for the banquet._

“Hey, Yuuri, it’s going to be alright.”

A hand falls on his shoulder, and it takes a second for Yuuri to realize that it’s not the hand shaking, but him. His lungs are too tight for air to get through, and a distant part of him hears the wheeze his breaths make.

“Breathe, buddy!” Phichit grabs him, steering him through the small kitchen until there’s a crate behind Yuuri’s knees and he collapses onto it.

That’s easy for him to say. This isn’t his family’s bakery. He’s not the one who screwed up the brioche _twice_. He didn’t completely destroy the pâte à choux, and the croissants, and the pretzels. He’s not the one that assured his family over and over again that he was completely capable of managing their contribution to the annual banquet, enough so that he let them take a damn vacation, and then completely failed them. Annihilated the chance to bring more business to their small little inn at the very edge of the capital.

Tears prick at Yuuri’s eyes, but he squeezes them shut to fight it.

“We still have all the tarts and cookies and cakes!” Phichit’s hand squeezes Yuuri’s shoulder, making him wince. He drops it.

“But I…” There’s nothing of his. Nothing to impress… “I didn’t do anything. I just wasted ingredients, and time, and money.”

“There’s your sourdough!”

Yuuri snorts out a laugh. Of all the things he could _not_ screw up, it had to be plain old sourdough. The bread with the least amount of magic in it, that showed the least of his passion for baking.

“Here.”

Something warm plops down on Yuuri’s lap, and it takes a second of blinking through the wire frames of his glasses for his eyes to focus on one of the oven’s small, black dragons snuggling into his apron. A grin attempts to flit its way across his lips as he reaches down to stroke it, a soft rumble building in its chest. Most people might only keep the scaley beasts because their fire heats up the oven like nothing else, but Yuuri’s always liked having the snuggly dragons around.

Phichit finally catches his eyes, worry in the lines around his eyes. “The banquet’s gonna be fine, all right? We’ve got enough to make a display, we’ll just adjust the layout. Not to mention, less stuff means there’ll be less to pack on the horses.”

“Yeah, but if we ruin anything else, we’ll be screwed.” Yuuri bends over, burying his face in soft scales, much to the dragon’s squirming delight.

“And then we get to go to the banquet and eat all the food without having to worry about setting up our own stuff.” There’s a grin to Phichit’s voice. “People already know about your baking, Yuuri, you and your bread have a reputation.”

A reputation for failure. Yuuri takes a deep breath, looking up. This was going to be the year his family’s inn showcased _his_ work. It was going to be the year that he caught everyone’s attention, especially the attention of Victor Nikiforov. The son of the last chefs that ruled the kingdom, trained by Yakov, the royal cook. Everyone knew he was an amazing cook, amazing enough to take the crown once old Plisetsky stepped down. And Yuuri knew that silver hair and that bright smile would forever be just out of reach. Always there at every banquet, to look at and never touch.

Though… maybe he’d at least get lucky enough to snag some of his food this year. If he could brave approaching his table.

Yuuri takes a deep breath. “Do we really have enough to bring?”

“Yep.” Phichit pulls Yuuri back to his feet, the dragon scrambling to the ground and back into its oven to curl up with the salamanders. “We might not have anything to put out to the shop tomorrow morning, but everyone’s always stuffed after the banquet. The most they’ll want is your sister’s coffee.”

Yuuri nods, looking around without focusing on anything. It’s just another banquet, same as ever. It shouldn’t be disappointing.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay.” Phichit wraps an arm around his shoulder.

Yuuri smiles, his first real smile in days. “Thanks. What did I ever do to deserve you for a best friend?”

“Hmmm.” Phichit pretends to think, squinting his eyes and putting his fist beneath his chin. “I mean, technically your parents hired me to help out, and that’s how you got stuck with me. But if you want to pay me back for my fabulous presence, you could always pack up all this stuff by yourself, and let me go galavanting to the banquet to get first dibs on all the food.”

Yuuri laughs, shoving him off. “You can get first dibs on checking out the food while I watch our stand, but no way are you getting out of helping me with this mess.”

After Phichit pouting for a minute, they get to packing it all up. It takes a few hours, but they manage to get everything tucked neatly away into crates. The light shafts into the little kitchen orange and pink in the dust motes—well, probably more excessive flour than actual dust—as Mari walks in.

“If you kids don’t head off soon, you’ll be late.” She leans against the doorway, eyeing their mess.

“We’re almost ready, don’t worry!” Phichit assures as he rushes out the door to go and grab the horses and their carts from the stables.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go?” Yuuri fiddles with the strings of his apron as his takes it off and brushes flour from his black chef coat. “You’ve never missed one before.”

“And you know I never cared about going, I always went to support mom and dad. Anyway, isn’t this going to be your big year?” She reaches out and ruffles Yuuri’s hair.

He ducks away, trying—and probably failing—to fix it, pushing his bangs from his eyes. “It _was_. But I screwed that up days ago. I don’t have anything to bring.”

“Wait, don’t you have your sourdough?”

Yuuri rolls his eyes. “Yeah, my plain ol’ sourdough. How impressive.”

Mari grins. “Exactly. You’ll be holding a swooning Victor in no time.”

Yuuri chokes on his snort, heat burning up his cheeks. “Th-that isn’t—!”

“We’re ready!” Phichit busts in the door, grabbing one of the crates. “Let’s get moving, or we won’t make it.”

“Go, have fun.” Mari gives Yuuri a push. “I get to enjoy a quiet inn, for once.”

He throws a small smile at her before tossing the dirty apron onto the counter and grabbing the next crate. It’s a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes though, and he’s happy he has something to keep his hands busy. There’s no point in him going now, it’s not like Phichit’s going to want to hide in a corner with him. He gets to splurge and eat whatever he wants for a day, sure, but…

But he failed. He failed his parents, he failed himself, and he failed the idol he’s most definitely never going to meet, now.

It took less time to get everything into the carts than it did to pack it all up, but by the time they were done, the light was getting dimmer through the leaves of the tree.

Yu-topia was at the edge of the kingdom’s capital, near the ocean’s coast where the breeze was rolling in cold and sharp that evening. They had a long way to the center of the city, but it gave Yuuri time to accept his fate, and enjoy the view. The clouds rolled in the gentle winds, fading slowly from pink to purple as the light faded. Their path was plenty lit though, the nocturnal sprites emerging and flitting around in glowing clusters, the singing of their wings a soft comfort in the darkness.

Phichit chatted on and off from atop his horse, keeping Yuuri’s thoughts from getting too tangled in themselves—probably on purpose, since he knew him too well. It only distracts so much, though, especially once they start to meet others on the road, and the streets grow wider and wider. Anxiety gnaws at his mind, sweat builds up on his skin, and his hands start shaking. He’ll survive it, he knows this, but that’s the worst part. He has to _live_ with this.

“There it is.” Phichit’s voice is soft as he glances up, and up, and up.

Yuuri follows his gaze, and his breath catches in his throat, all thoughts numb for a blessed second.The castle was less built, and more _grown_. The branches of trees whorl together into intricate patterns, images and stories woven into every carefully grown branch, every manicured leaf. Lights dance around it all, giving it a sense of movement and life that Yuuri knows will match the sound of the music inside, the lights bigger and brighter than anything he’s ever seen. No one seems to know what they are, and most people think it must be some secret to royal cooking—a recipe no one else knows, and they have to master before their coronation. It doesn’t matter to Yuuri, though. He may see it every single year, but it still knocks him senseless each time.

The crowds push the boys through the streets, and almost through the front gates, when they manage to break free and make a beeline for the side entrance, where a few other latecomers are making their entrance. The whole kingdom’s invited to attend the feast, but only so many are allowed to cater the event along with the highest of royalty. Yuuri’s mother and father worked hard for this honor, and then he had to go and screw it up…

Phichit dismounts, catching Yuuri’s expression. “Uh oh. C’mon, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“I destroy what little reputation my parents have left?” Yuuri’s voice comes out a squeak.

“ _Little_ reputation?” Phichit lets out a short laugh. “People might not be traveling out to the edge of the city much anymore, but people still know the Katsuki name. And I’d like to see you _try_ to wreck your parents’ business with that sourdough of yours.”

“I mean…” Yuuri’s pretty sure if he tried, he could. Maybe take loaves of it and start chucking it at the royal chefs. A grin sneaks across his face.

“Besides,” Phichit shoves one of the crates into his arms. “This is mostly stuff your parents made before leaving, and my desserts, right? So if anyone screws it up, it’d be the rest of us.”

Yuuri grumbles, hefting the crate and turning away to hide the fact that he’s still smiling. He still keeps his eyes down as they get everything inside, the servants of the castle helping them as much as the boys allow—you can only trust a stranger so much when there’s food involved. And that’s where he keeps his focus, on the polished wood beneath his feet. For one to make sure he doesn’t trip and ruin any of the baked goods they still have, but also because he doesn’t want to see who’s there. He doesn’t want to compare what they brought to what everyone else has brought, he doesn’t want to be cornered into making small talk before he has to.

Luckily their small table is in the same place it is every year, a corner near the entrance that all the guests will be coming through. At least that means they’ll run out of food quickly, people eager to try the best the kingdom’s chefs have to offer.

“That’s it, I think.” Phichit fiddles with their display. He’s always been better at that sort of thing than Yuuri—he’s happy to bake the goods, but to put them together into something pleasing to the eye, well, he’s never had the knack for it. “And just in time, too.”

Other people are still prepping too, but servants are starting to head towards the front, and in the next minute, there’s a loud creak of a door, followed by the buzzing chatter of hundreds of voices.

Yuuri finally lets himself look around, see what the guests are going to see. Towers of food litter the room, glittering and glowing, and in some cases, even singing. Every chef brings the magic out of food in different ways. Some are more practical, like healers, and others have been banned from ever creating after blowing up a house or shooting a filet of trout through a roof, for the safety of everyone. And then there are those who make it _art._ That bring out the magic and the life in what they create, the flavors singing in such harmony that the magic bursts with every bite.

That’s what this banquet celebrates.

That’s what Yuuri loves about baking.

“Ooh, if that a fondue fountain?” Phichit bounces a little next to him.

“Go ahead.” Yuuri gives him a tentative push. “I’ll stay here for now, I promised you first dibs.”

“Yuuri, you don’t have to.” Phichit frowns.

Yuuri shakes his head. “I know, but you go. I’m fine.”

After eyeing him for a minute longer, Phichit shrugs. “Your loss!”

And he takes off into the crowd beginning to bustle around them.

Yuuri fiddles with the sleeves of his chef coat, trying to smile and probably grimacing at everyone passing by. At least he doesn’t have to talk to anyone—the crowd pulls them away before they can get out more than a, “Delicious!” or, “Simply divine!” which Yuuri just smiles and murmurs a quick thanks to. It’s almost comforting in its routine, almost enough to get him to relax.

It really is just going to be another normal year, nothing different, nothing changing. Even if he hadn’t messed up his bread, his magic is too subtle to have stood out next to the vibrant sparkles and glimmers of Phichit’s tarts and cookies, or his mom’s glittering and humming hors d’oeuvres.

“Which ones are yours?”

Yuuri nearly jumps out of his skin, staring down at the kid in front of him. Maybe in his mid-teens, his blonde hair braided back, and mouth turned down into a scowl. He looks vaguely familiar, but before he thinks about it, Yuuri points to his sourdough. It glows in a faint imitation of the lights that float around the castle, his inspiration and passion for the one night he gets to see his idol bleeding into the dough as he kneaded it. Not that he even wants to _see_ Victor after screwing everything up, but still.

The kid grabs a piece and shoves it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully for a second.

That’s when Yuuri catches sight of the tiger crest on his chef coat, and it clicks into place. This is Yuri Plisetsky. Grandson of the current head chef of the kingdom, already a master even though he’s still a teenager.

Who’s now eating his bread, eyebrows furrowed. Yuuri’s knees knock together, and he leans against the table while the teenager chews.

When he swallows, Yuri’s scowl pops right back on his face. “This is it?”

“W-what?” Yuuri squeaks.

“This is all you’ve got? For _this_ banquet?”

“Um… yes? I mean, there’s tarts over there, and those are my mother’s—“

He snorts, cutting Yuuri off. “Pathetic.”

And then he walks off, short head disappearing into the crowd.

Tears prick in Yuuri’s eyes, and he tries to keep his breathing even. Not here, he can’t cry here.

God, he knows he’s pathetic, but he didn’t need anyone _saying it_.

More people pass by, some eyeing Yuuri warily, but he tries to push through. For his family, if nothing else. But his gut is full of rocks, grinding against each other, making him want to vomit.

“Hey, you need a break?” Phichit pokes his side, lips turned down at the edges.

“I, um, yeah.” Yuuri lets out a breath. “Yeah, I’ll go walk around a bit, if you’ve got the table.”

“Sure, I probably spent too much time out there myself. Have fun?” He asks it, knowing the effort it’ll be for Yuuri after the past week of failed prep.

“I’ll try.” Yuuri attempts a smile before pushing himself into the crowd and losing himself in the pull of it.

He knows that his chef coat makes him stand out, but he’s not the only one in the crowd wearing one. And who knows of him? He’s been here every year, sure, but it’s not as if he’s really ever been someone to notice. His parents own the inn, he just bakes bread.

With a sigh, he looks up—and finds his feet took him to the one place he always goes every banquet, the one place that he didn’t know if he wanted to be at this year: the royal table. And it truly is magnificent. Even picked over, the remaining food still still create the illusion of movement and still wafts smells that has Yuuri drooling. And only a few yards away, the royal family themselves.

But Yuuri only has eyes for one. His silver hair is as short as it was last year, but his chef’s coat in completely different, all pinks and maroons and golds wrapped about him in a way that Yuuri can’t help to admire, even if it’s less than practical. And of course his eyes, blue as the ocean…

Are looking at Yuuri.

A heart-shaped smile breaks out across Victor’s face, and he waves.

Yuuri can’t even breathe.

He’s just being nice, he’s just greeting another chef that came to taste his display, he _knows_ this. But Victor’s never looked at him before. Victor’s never waved at him, definitely not.

So Yuuri does the only thing he can do. He bolts.

He runs through the crowds, accidentally stumbles through the dance floor, until he’s on the other side of the room. He leans up a wall, lungs burning as he gasps in air, squeezing his eyes shut. That was _dumb_. He shouldn’t have run. Now Victor probably just thinks he’s crazy. Which, maybe he is.

 _Pathetic_.

Yuri’s word bounces around his head, and Yuuri’s stomach churns with how true it rings.

“You look like you could use a drink.”

Yuuri blinks open his eyes, squinting through his glasses to find a man there, holding out a glass of something brown and most definitely alcoholic. He’s never been one for drinking, but if there was ever a time for it…

He mutters thanks as he accepts the glass taking a sip. And then screws up his face in a desperate move to resist the urge to spit it back out. It takes like pond water. Rotten pond water, if it can even rot.

The man laughs. “Here’s try it with this.” He hands him a small plate with some sort of block of cheese and pink and purple vegetables.

He doesn’t trust that anything can make that sewage taste better, but the guy’s trying to be nice and Yuuri doesn’t want to be rude. So he takes a bit of the dish, sips the drink, and… It _works_. Somehow the food blends into the nasty liquid, bringing out a richer flavor in both.

The man laughs at him and his giant grin. “If you think that’s good, you should try this.”

And Yuuri does try it. And another dish and a drink, and another, and another. There’s some muffled voice in the back of his head warning him that the room’s starting to get a little blurry and that his feet aren’t working like they should, but Yuuri doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to think, so he doesn’t until the night turns into a blur of colors and food and alcohol, and he can’t remember why he was even feeling bad in the first place.

In fact, he can’t remember the rest of the night at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyy, so this is my first fanfic ever! I'm not even sure if anyone will be interested, or if it's any good, or if I should continue, but lately this fandom and its beautiful work has been getting me through some hellishly hard times, so I wanted to give back a little. :) I've been writing original work for many years and many novels, but I haven't ever written third person, so RIP me, I hope it's tolerable. (Also this has no beta, so if you want to point out the inevitable typos/tense shifts, feel free.) This chapter was about twice as long as I wanted it to be, but *shrugs into the next dimension*
> 
> I have many years experience as a professional baker, and a professional chef, and since I'm a fantasy addict I've always wanted to write magical food, so this is me getting that off my chest in a light way. With fluff and Victuuri thrown in the mix. If you enjoy, consider throwing a kudo or a comment my way to encourage this unsure writer? <3
> 
> Also, fun fact: Yuuri getting drunk while barely realizing it is the same as the first and only time I got drunk. I was a wee little chef, and my kitchen let me attend a wine dinner. I got so wrapped up in how the food just worked with the alcohol, I lost track of what I drank. And I might have possibly maybe been a bit underage wHOOPS.
> 
> Anyhow, if you want, you can find me on Twitter and Tumblr @kazul9 as well!


	2. Chapter Two

“You look like death,” Phichit announces, far too chipper for those particular words.

“I _feel_ like death.” Yuuri collapses half on the wooden workbench, half on a stool. “What happened last night?”

“Wouldn’t we both like to know?” Phichit sets a cup of water down in front of Yuuri, eyeing him. “All I know is that you disappeared forever, and by the time you stumbled back to our table, I was half packed up and you were beyond useless. You seriously don’t remember anything?”

Yuuri winces, nursing the water as his head pounds. It could be worse, considering his total blackout. Thank the gods his parents won’t be back until tomorrow at the soonest, and everything should be dead today. He’d embarrassed himself enough already. If only he could scrape the memories he did have of yesterday out of his brain so he didn’t have to live with them. “The last thing I remember is getting way too into how drinking pairs with food before everything went totally blank.”

“Oh, Yuuri.” Phichit clucks his tongue, heading to an oven and pulling out some muffins. “You went missing for two hours, and that’s all you got?”

“I _what_?” Yuuri shoots up, then slinks back down with a curse, clutching his head. “What did I do for two hours?”

“Believe me, I wish I knew, too.” Phichit plops down some berried muffin, giving Yuuri a look that dares him to refuse the food. “I think I saw you dancing, but it was at a distance, and…”

Yuuri’s stomach twists as he picks up the muffin. “And?”

“It was probably ‘cause it was late and I was tired, and you know you could barely see from where the table was, _but_ it almost looked like you were with Victor Nikiforov.” Phichit’s eyes stayed glued to Yuuri, face carefully blank.

For a second, all Yuuri can do is stare. It’s not like it isn’t a concept he hasn’t thought about—he’s spent a lot of time thinking about it. That’s probably one of his less fantastic fantasies, meeting Victor at the banquet, impressing him enough that he just _has_ to ask Yuuri to dance, and he sweeps him off his feet, and…

Yuuri snorts out a laugh, taking a bite of the muffin. “Phichit, I almost got over to the royal table, but then Victor saw me and waved, and I ran. _That’s_ why I got drunk. You couldn’t have paid me enough to talk to Victor, much less dance with him last night.”

A grin cracks Phichit’s face. “Are you saying that you finally could’ve had a conversation with your hero, your _idol_ , and you ran?”

Yuuri winces, shoving more muffin in his mouth to avoid answering. Of course he ran. Better than letting the trail of embarrassment grow.

Not that he really avoided that, but still.

Phichit shakes his head, taking the muffins out of their pans and setting them on a rack to cool. “You baffle me sometimes, you know? Well, I guess we’re back to the usual grind. You’re lucky it’s been dead so Mari and I could let you sleep into the afternoon.”

“It’s the afternoon?” Yuuri manages between mouthfuls, his stomach only realizing it’s empty after the food hits it.

“Yeah. Not all of us can sleep in after drunkenly bumbling around the annual banquet last night.”

Gods, what _did_ he do while he was drunk? He guesses if he made a giant enough ass of himself there was no way Phichit, the ultimate town gossip, wouldn’t have heard. That or he would have gotten arrested. He grabs the water again, sipping as he pokes around his brain for _any_ hint of a memory. Maybe some vague blurs and colors, but he can’t tell if any of it’s dreamed or not. Not that it’s helpful, either way.

“Yuuri!” Mari’s voice echoes through the kitchen, ringing against the stoves. “Get out here. Now!”

Yuuri blinks, glancing over his shoulder, then back again.

“Yes you, not Phichit!”

Phichit’s brow furrows as he rubs his hands on his apron and shrugs. “Someone’s probably got a question. Like I said, back to the ol’ grind.”

“Yeah.” Probably for the better, too. Yuuri gets up, shoving the rest of the muffin in his mouth. Probably not the best idea before going out to talk to a customer or a guest, but nothing compared to what he did to himself last night. His limbs feel lighter than they did just a few minutes ago. Maybe it’s because he’s hydrated and fed again, but also because it’s over. No more embarrassing himself in front of the best of the best in the country. Just his own family, and regular customers. What was he even thinking in the first place, anyway? His anxiety is bad enough on a regular day, much less with the weight of all that on his shoulders.

He’s learned his lesson. No more stunts like that again. Phichit can have the limelight next year, even—Yuuri knows it's his dream to open a little bakery in his small hometown one day. Having a name for himself will help him start off on the right foot when he’s ready to strike it out on his own.

Yuuri nods to himself as he pushes through the curtain separating the kitchen from the dining area. He has the inn and kitchen to inherit with Mari, he needs nothing more than a completely ordinary life.

At the very least, he does _not_ need any more excitement.

“Yuuri!”

He freezes. His body freezes, his mind freezes, even time itself seems to slow down. Because Yuuri’s heard that voice. He's heard it from afar nearly every year, laughing and conversing with strangers. And when he manages to force his head to turn and look down the counter that separates the baked goods from the dining area, he first catches sight of Mari with her eyes wide, and mouth quirked down, an expression he’s never seen her wear before—not that he blames her for it. Because across from her stands a man with silver hair and a heart-shaped smile and blue eyes that, once again, are pinned on Yuuri.

Yuuri almost screams, only a muffled squeak making it out past the muffin in his mouth as he spins around and bolts back into the kitchen. He makes it maybe a foot before he trips over his own feet and falls face-first onto the floor.

He distantly hears the sound of footsteps, and hands touch his shoulders, helping him turn around before he can blink, though that’s not saying much. He forces himself to swallow the muffin before he chokes on it.

“You okay?” Phichit’s voice registers, bringing Yuuri crashing back down to earth.

“Well, I mean, maybe?” Yuuri readjusts his glasses, his finger shaking slightly. “I just think I’m still drunk. No, I’m _definitely_ still drunk.”

“Uh… what?” Phichit helps him up.

“I just… saw Victor out there? In my family’s bakery?” Maybe he has a screw loose. After the stressful week, he’s finally broken. Well, he could do worse than hallucinations of Victor, he supposes.

Phichit stares at him for a moment before pushing past him and disappearing behind the curtain.

Voices murmur and Mari calls for Yuuri again, but he doesn’t pay attention. He needs to go back to bed. He’s been wearing himself out, and getting blackout drunk obviously didn’t help. He can fix this. Though… Does he really want to get rid of imaginary Victor?

Phichit laughs, close enough to the curtain that Yuuri can make out his words. “No, you just scared him—he’s still kinda in rough shape from last night is all. Trust me, you’re fine.”

There’s a rustle of fabric, and Yuuri turns, braced to face Phichit’s concern and, and prepared to assure him he that he just needs to go back to sleep and he’ll be fine.

What he wasn’t braced for was Phichit to be dragging imaginary Victor along with him. There’s a crease between his brow, lips pressed together as he meets Yuuri’s gaze. Again.

Yuuri makes a pathetic squeak, covering his mouth. Is it possible to get used to looking at that gorgeous blue, or will he be shocked every time? At least that’s something his brain can replicate perfectly, even without the real version here.

Something flashes across Victor’s face, too quick to catch but definitely there. “I, um, didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m sorry, Yuuri.”

“He’s still coming down from the excitement of the banquet, that’s all. Right, Yuuri?” Phichit makes his way over to Yuuri, nudging him in the ribs as a huge smile overtakes his face.

If Phichit can see imaginary Victor, and _talk_ to imaginary Victor… Then that means either both of them are imaginary—which is doubtful considering how acutely he can feel Phichit’s elbow poking his side—or imaginary Victor is in fact very, very real.

He nearly turns to bolt again, but Phichit’s arm drapes over his shoulder, keeping him there. Did he really praise him last night for being a great best friend? Because if he could, he would disown him this very second. Except that would probably be rude in front of Victor.

 _Victor_. Standing right in front of him, waiting for something to finally escape Yuuri’s gaping mouth.

“What are you doing here?” The words are out before he thinks about them, and the rest just keep pouring out. “I um, I mean, hi! I-it’s so nice of you to visit my family’s bakery!”

Victor grins, a small crinkle forming at the corner of his eyes that almost has Yuuri fainting. Or swooning. Something that involves collapsing. “Of course! I’ve heard about Yu-topia for years, it really is about time that I stopped by and visited.”

“O-oh!” If he was just here to visit one of the caterers of the banquet, that made a little more sense. Maybe Mari called Yuuri out because he’d had a question, or wanted to try something. Finally, a little bit of sense. “We, um, we’re understocked after the banquet last night, but Phichit and I would be happy to serve you anything that we can offer.”

Victor’s smile shrinks a little in a sly sort of way, sending Yuuri’s heart running. “Thank you, but that isn’t what brought me all the way out here the day after the country’s most prestigious celebration.”

“It… isn’t?” A part of him registers Phichit stiffening next to him, but he can’t think beyond that.

“No, of course not. I’ve come to be your apprentice!”

Yuuri’s brain comes to a screeching halt. The only sound in the bakery is the soft sound of salamander and dragon scales against the metal of the ovens, and it’s deafening in his ears. He has to have heard wrong. This can’t be happening. Yuuri’s fantasized about being taught _by_ Victor—after all he’s kinda crappy at everything other than bread. And even with bread, that’s just something he’s okay at baking. This is just not real. Or a joke. But why would this be funny?

“ _You_ want to be _my_ apprentice?” He chokes out the words before the silence strangles everyone.

“But of course! After tasting your delicious bread last night, how could I resist?” He says it like it’s the more obvious thing in the world.

Phichit and Yuuri exchange a looks, Yuuri silently asking with wide eyes, _Do you remember seeing him take some bread?_ and Phichit shrugging wildly in a _No, I think I would remember that?_

“You mean my sourdough?” Maybe he went to another table and got confused. There were other people with a lot of baked goods there. There’s another explanation, and Yuuri will be damned if he doesn’t get to the bottom of this.

“Positive.” He nods, eyes looking over Yuuri’s shoulder as he recalls. “Yuri brought me some. Sorry that he, uh, was rude to you.”

Yuuri? But he didn’t even make it to the royal table, much less… Oh. Yuri Plisetsky. _Oh._ Yuuri laughs and looks down, hoping Victor doesn’t catch the edge of panic as he carefully examines his shoes. “No, he was right, it’s fine. I mean, it was just sourdough. Nothing impressive.”

Victor frowns. He places a finger under Yuuri’s chin, tilting his head up to look him in the eyes. And he’s close. So close that he can feel the vibrations of Victor’s words coming out of his mouth. “ _I_ was impressed.”

Yuuri’s heart might very well beat straight out of his chest, but he doesn’t care. Just a few minutes ago he was grateful for how calm and boring his life was about to get, and now Victor Nikiforov is inches from him and he’s looking at him like… Well, if anything, certainly not like he hates him. Like he hadn’t made an ass of himself last night, like he _had_ somehow found his plain old sourdough delicious enough to trek across the city and bust into his kitchen and demand Yuuri take him on as an apprentice.

But that can’t be the truth. Can it?

Phichit clears his throat, sending Yuuri scrambling away from both him and Victor, his face absolutely on fire.

“Well, I think having Victor around should be fun.” Phichit crosses his arms, smirking.

“ _What_?” Yuuri practically yells, covering his mouth again. Someone just needs to shut him up. Except this is crazy and he needs to shut it down. He can’t teach Victor anything, this is ridiculous.

“Well, other than having the extra help which you know we can use but don’t have,” he turns back to Victor, “I’m sure you’d attract more customers to cover your wage.”

“Oh no, I don’t need a wage. Just a place to stay, since it’s a bit of a trek from the palace.” He gives a smile that would have knocked Yuuri over any other day under any other circumstances.

Of course he doesn’t need a wage. His parents were culinary royalty. He’s probably set for life.

Yuuri wrings his hands. “Um, I don’t know if we can take you on.” The smile falters on Victor’s face, making Yuuri rush to continue. “My parents! They’re not here right now, and they own the inn, so I don’t even know if they’ll be okay with it.”

“I’m sure Mom and Dad wouldn’t mind. If anything, they’ll be happy about the extra business.”

Of course Mari’s to leaning against the doorframe, eavesdropping. Of course.

“Really, Yuuri, if that’s your only excuse…” Phichit raises his eyebrows.

Is _no one_ on his side? Aren’t they as baffled as he is? Something has to be wrong, no question about it.

“But, um, there’s no place to stay right now!” The excuses are starting to sound weak, even to Yuuri. “A lot of our rooms were booked this morning since the banquet was yesterday. Some have checked out, but I’m sure they’re still dirty and the sheets need to be washed, and we aren’t really an upscale place anyway…”

“Really?” Victor taps his chin. “Oh, I know! Then why don’t I stay in your room, Yuuri?”

Yuuri’s knees almost give out. “No! No no no, Mari and I will get right on clearing out a room, right Mari?”

She grins, a wicked thing. “Sure bro, though it’d be easier if he stayed with you.”

“I really wouldn’t mind,” Victor chimes in.

Yuuri’s throat constricts, and he wonders if it’s possible to choke on your own tongue. “Um, I, well… It’s so small! There’s no room for you, so sorry, you’ll have to get your own room.”

“Hmmm, I’m sorry too.” He frowns for a second, then shrugs. “Well then, I suppose a regular room will do.”

He's not… He wasn’t implying… Right? _Right_?

“Do you have luggage outside that needs to be brought in?” Thank goodness Mari’s given up the teasing, back to business.

“Yes! The coachmen will bring it in though, if you’ll just give them the room number.” Victor half-turns, pauses, then turns back to Yuuri. “Though… Yuuri, if you don’t want me around, you have to let me know. I won’t force myself on you.”

Every eye turns to Yuuri, and they burn into his skin. He could say no, in theory. But he couldn’t live with himself. Saying no to having his idol around? Even if he has nothing to teach him, and even though the man seems dead set on killing Yuuri slowly. Maybe he could twist it around and get Victor to teach him a few things. And he would bring more customers, everyone and their mother knows his name, and gossip travels fast. Honestly, finding a single reason to say no is next to impossible.

Yuuri nods. “I…” He swallows. “I’ll take you on as my apprentice.”

“Perfect!” Victor takes Yuuri’s hands lightly in his. “I look forward to all you have to teach me, Chef!” And then he turns and leaves.

Victor just called Yuuri “Chef.” He’s supposed to teach Victor things. He’s supposed to live with Victor under the same roof.

He isn’t going to survive this.

“Seven gods and seven hells, Yuuri.” Phichit whistles softly, both of them staring at where Victor just disappeared with Mari. “I’m pretty sure Victor seriously has the hots for you. And just from your bread? I know you’re an amazing baker, but apparently you hiding away in your parent’s place has kept you from seducing the world.”

Yuuri stumbles back over to the workbench, collapsing and burying his head in his arms. “I’m going to die. Maybe I’m already dead. That’s the only way this makes sense. You better start digging my grave so my parents can bury me when they get back.”

“But Yuuri! How can I bury you when you have to start teaching Victor how to bake tomorrow?”

Yuuri moans. Gods, what _is_ he going to teach Victor tomorrow?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) What _did_ Yuuri get up to for two blackout drunk hours? How did he even survive being drunk that long? And what on earth will Yuuri teach Victor tomorrow? WHO KNOWS.
> 
> Okay maybe I know.
> 
> Maybe.
> 
> Anyhow, I’m so, so happy people are enjoying this fic!!! I was expecting about five people to read, so when the kudos hit the double digits I might’ve cried a little. The plan for now is to update every Saturday. :D You can come nag me on [Tumblr](http://kazul9.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Kazul9) if it looks like I’ll be late. Next chapter we’ll get into some actual baking, pinky promise. If you guys have anything you want to see the bois bake, let me know an I’ll do my best!
> 
> Also, I have a beta, my wonderful friend Blue! Though don’t blame them if not everything’s caught—they don’t call me a leegendrary typoer for nothin’. ;) We’re actually working on a writing project together, [if you want to check it out](https://kkazulwolf.com/writings/shorts-of-sorts/) (a new story goes live tomorrow)! You can even participate by [throwing prompts at us](https://kkazulwolf.com/2018/06/23/prompt-call/). :D
> 
> Kudos make my day, and comments are my lifeblood, so thank you so, so much to everyone who leaves them! <3


	3. Chapter Three

 

“You’re _such_ a chef.” Yuuri rubs his forehead, staring at the poor, innocent loaf of misshapen bread, wondering what he and it had ever done to deserve this.

“You say that like it’s an insult!” If it were anyone else saying it, it’d be an accusation, but Victor almost seems pleased.

Yuuri sighs for what might be the thousandth time that morning. “Did you even measure your ingredients before kneading them together?”

“Of course, that’s what you told me to do.” He doesn’t even look remotely upset at the poor, somewhat flat loaf of bread in front of him. In fact, as he takes in Yuuri, his smile looks almost… delighted.

If it were Yuuri, it would’ve messed up the rest of his day. Mistakes happen in baking, especially when you have to get up at sunrise to get everything started. But it throws him off each time it happens. He’s done this for so long, he has no excuses to mess up the recipes he knows by heart, he has enough experience that new creations and experiments shouldn’t throw him off as much as they do.

With Victor’s nonchalance about the whole thing, Yuuri would almost think he must screw up all the time. Which is obviously impossible. He’s known for producing the most consistent, beautiful, and perfectly seasoned dishes. If this country had a prince, it’d be him. As it is, he’s a minor lord.

Which you could tell from the sheer amount of things he brought to stay at the tiny inn. Not to mention the high-quality fabric of the chef coat he’s wearing now—it even looks fitted. Yuuri’d been able to avoid him most of the rest of yesterday, and he’d hoped Victor would have slept in today after the shenanigans of getting settled yesterday. But no, Victor had been up before Yuuri even, far too chipper for the hour. Between him and Phichit both being morning people, Yuuri’s doomed.

At least he’d been too sleepy to be too overwhelmingly anxious, other than the few times he noticed that he was bossing Victor Nikiforov around his kitchen.

The same man who Yuuri had just snapped at. Insulted, too. His windpipe shrinks as he looks at the poor unsalvageable loaf, breathing quicker without the feeling he’s getting enough air. He can’t teach Victor well enough to make even the most basic of bread recipes. There’s no way he can do this.

“G’morning.” Phichit comes in the back entrance of the kitchen, momentarily breaking Yuuri from his spiraling thoughts. “How goes the first day of—oh.” His eyes land on the sad loaf.

“Looks like I still have quite a bit to learn!” How can he _still_ sound so damn cheerful? He has to know Yuuri’s a terrible teacher by now, that whatever he has left to learn he’s not going to pick up here.

Maybe crawling into an oven and hiding with the dragons might be the best way for Yuuri to spend the rest of the day.

“Too much salt?” Phichit pokes the sad loaf, the dense thing barely giving beneath his finger.

“Yep.” For the first time this morning, Victor’s smile falls a bit. “Probably about twice as much.”

Yuuri’s brow furrows. He’d assumed he must have messed up what he’d written down, or the verbal instructions, but if he knows exactly how he destroyed the loaf… “Did you mess up the bread on purpose?”

A light dusting of pink crosses Victor’s cheeks, growing a little darker on his ears. He shrinks back a bit, almost ashamed. But before Yuuri can comfort him, he flashes him one of those smiles he’s seen charm a whole room at previous banquets. “It’s not my fault you’re so cute when you’re flustered!”

The smile on Phichit’s face might be amused or pitying, and Yuuri’s not entirely sure which he’d prefer. “Well, at least the salamanders will appreciate the snack?”

Yuuri narrows his eyes. “Why did you _really_ add too much salt?”

Victor tilts his head. “Well, the dough tasted a little bland.”

A frown creeps across Yuuri’s face. “Why did you taste the dough?”

“Because I saw you tasting your dough.”

Oh. He hadn’t even thought about it, no clue that Victor even saw it. He knows that in cooking that you taste dishes constantly to make sure the flavor profile is what you want, his mom taught him that. But he told Victor to follow the recipe exactly. “Do you know why I was tasting my dough?”

“No?” Victor’s grin loses a bit of its edge.

Again, Yuuri sighs. “ _Not_ for the salt content.”

Victor ducks his head, and Yuuri wants to crawl into the ovens again, but this time so the dragons can eat him alive.

“Sorry,” Yuuri murmurs. “I should’ve been paying more attention. I…” Was too nervous to really even look at Victor straight, a failure of a teacher at best. The sooner Victor learns how bad he is, the better.

“I forgive you.” Victor gives a small smile, a real smile with the crinkles around his eyes showing. “But why did you taste your bread then?”

“Because he’s weird,” Phichit answers without missing a beat, grabbing eggs out of the icebox.

Yuuri sticks his tongue out at him, then flushes once he catches himself and wraps his arms around his middle. “Um, we had a guest from another country stay here for a few months, and he helped pay for his bill by helping out in the kitchen. He said that instead of well, you know, the window test—”

“The window test?”

Yuuri blinks. “Haven’t you made bread for the banquet before?”

That adorable flush paints Victor’s nose and cheeks again, and Yuuri can’t fathom why. “Well, er, yes. But they were more of… an experiment. And I had help”

Yuuri’s brow furrows, but he shrugs it off. “Here.” He lifts a cloth off the corner of some sourdough he finished kneading a little while ago, taking off a chuck. “You use a window test to make sure that you’ve developed the gluten in the bread enough.” He starts pulling the bread between his fingers into a rectangular shape, spreading it thin enough that the light shines through and he can nearly see through it. “If it’s not developed enough, it’ll snap instead of stretch.”

“Gluten?”

Yuuri smiles a little. He really doesn’t know _anything_? “It’s what makes bread chewy.”

“Oh.” Victor taps his mouth with a long finger. “But why do you taste it?”

It takes a second for Yuuri to refocus from where Victor’s finger presses against his lips, his mind whirring to figure out what it would feel like if it was his finger there. “Um, ah, well, the guy insisted that you could taste the dough to tell when it’s done more accurately than the window test, so I decided to give it a go.”

Victor’s stare seems to linger far too long on where Yuuri’s cheeks are tinged pink. “Does it work?”

“Yes,” Yuuri answers while Phichit simultaneously snorts and says, “No.”

“Just ‘cause you can’t do it doesn’t mean it doesn’t work.” Yuuri grins as he sticks the small chunk of dough with the rest to rise.

Phichit sticks his tongue out at Yuuri, walking out of the kitchen with a plate of eggs for whatever guest decided to get up this early.

“Sorry you had to disturb your dough to show me.” Victor waves at the rising mound, and Yuuri’s once again struck by the fact that Victor’s here, he’s real, and he’s in his family’s kitchen.

“It’ll be fine,” Yuuri murmurs, delicately poking the rising bread and watching it jiggle slightly. “It looks like it’s almost ready, and it was a small piece.”

“True.” Victor smiles, and it’s a soft thing. “Not to mention any bread you make is simply brilliant. Especially this sourdough.”

Yuuri laughs. “Thanks, but I know it’s average.” He turns away, eyeing the kitchen. “You don’t have to compliment me for the sake of it.”

Victor’s quiet for a minute. Yuuri’s mind wanders, trying to compile what needs to be done next. They aren’t going to be busy until the weekend, and there’s still a few days between then and now, so he doesn’t want to make something that for sure won’t sell… Maybe something for them to eat? It’s been awhile since he scarfed down some toast for breakfast, and he really should be eating healthier after indulging so much at the banquet—it really just goes right to his hips—but Victor wants to learn…

“Why else do you think I came here, Yuuri?”

Yuuri glances back at Victor, blinking and trying to remember the conversation. “Oh. Um. I… don’t know?”

Victor frowns, brow furrowing. It can’t be that hard to believe. Has he eaten bread other than Yuuri’s in his life? They have to have a dozen bakers, all more skilled than him at the palace where he cooks. You could easily find dozens of more bakers better than him in the city alone, much less the whole country. Maybe Victor was as drunk as Yuuri was at the banquet, and that’s why he got so enamored with Yuuri’s sourdough, of all things. The bread that’s his quiet little tribute to the castle and to seeing Victor every year.

The flush on Yuuri’s cheeks is beginning to become permanent, as he glances around the room for a way out of his own head and away from Victor’s disapproval over whatever he’s thinking. Or maybe he’s coming to terms with the truth in Yuuri’s words?

Either way, his eyes land on the poor, failed lump of bread, and Yuuri smiles. “Would you like to feed it to the ovens?”

Victor blinks. “What?”

“The, um, salty bread. The salamanders love anything with a lot of flour, and sometimes the dragons will even go for it.” Yuuri picks up the loaf and _man_ is it dense.

“Really?” Victors eyes light up, and he has to stifle a laugh.

“Here, c’mon.” Yuuri rips the loaf in half, handing a part to Victor who snatches it up. He leads them over to one of the three ovens, taking a towel to pry open the metal handle.

The slithery creatures lining the side of the walls all turn their shining, beady eyes toward them. The black dragons and bright-red salamanders almost blend in with the coal that they keep glowing to keep the ovens warm. Yuuri grins, ripping off a piece of bread. “No, we’re not here to change the temperature. Here.” And he tosses the bread into their huddled mass.

They squirm, snapping up the bread and the crumbs in seconds, all of them slithering closer for more.

“Wow!” Victor clutches the bread to his chest, eyes impossibly wide. “They’re so adorable!”

Yuuri laughs. “You’ve never fed anything to the dragons in the ovens you’ve used?” And then the laughter clogs Yuuri’s throat. Of course he doesn’t, he wouldn’t have mistakes like these. Not when he has a competent teacher.

“Well,” Victor leans in a little closer, “sometimes I’ll toss some in there when Yokov isn’t looking. But they’re on a specialized diet, so we’re not technically supposed to.”

“Why?” Yuuri tosses another chunk in, the mound of scales twisting and turning and giving soft little chirps. “The special diet, I mean.”

“Something about making their fire and heat more potent?” Victor throws some in for himself, squealing a little before remembering what he was saying. “But it seems like yours do just fine.”

Yuuri shrugs. “They do well enough for a small inn like ours. And I think they’re happy, getting to eat a wide variety of mistakes.”

Victor throws an extra large chunk in, laughing wildly at the antics of the lizards in the oven.

“Geez, if only he were here last week.” Phichit stands just inside the kitchen, eyeing them as Victor wipes the tears from his eyes. “I had a whole batch of cookies I messed up you could’ve fed ‘em.”

“I suppose I’ll just have to _accidentally_ add more salt to another batch of bread.” Victor winks.

“Don’t you _dare_.” Yuuri gives him a shove, and they both laugh.

Phichit gives an approving grin while Yuuri blushes, quickly throwing another large chunk of bread into the oven before it can sink in that he just _touched_ Victor.

It keeps up that way for a little while, and they develop a game of seeing if they can toss a chunk of bread into a dragon’s mouth without it getting intercepted by a salamander. Neither of them succeeds, which Victor takes as permission to mess up whatever they make next, so they can settle the score, and Yuuri threatens to throw him out if he does.

Victor laughs again. “Yes, Chef!”

Yuuri flushes, trying to splutter out a response and failing. He’s never been anyone’s superior in the kitchen, and he isn’t sure if he likes it.

“Hey, you going to take care of this monster?” Phichit pokes at the sourdough, big enough that it’s starting to poke out from beneath the fabric covering it.

“Oh!” Yuuri scrambles to his feet, hesitates, then offers a hand to Victor. “Would you, er, like to help?”

Victor’s grin is so wide it might honestly kill Yuuri as he takes his hand. “Yes, Chef!”

Yuuri feels his ears burning, dropping Victor’s hand as soon as he’s up, and walks over to the workbench. He _has_ to be doing this to Yuuri on purpose. And it didn’t help that they were holding hands while he said it. Who knew a hand could feel so warm and right in his own?

Shaking his head, Yuuri carefully lifts off the fabric and smacks the dough underneath.

“Wha—?” Victor jumps back. “Why did you _hit_ it?”

Yuuri busies his hands with folding the dough back into a more reasonable size. “Dough needs to be pressed down once it’s done rising the first time? And it’s, um… fun. To smack it.”

Victor raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t say a word.

Thank the gods. Yuuri directs Victor to grab the scale and some bread pans from different areas of the small kitchen, while he grabs a couple of bench knives. He tells Victor what to weigh out the loaves to, while showing him how to shape a loaf, and how you can hide the seam of the dough by pinching or rolling it shut. When Yuuri gives him a turn, he tries valiantly to roll it shut though Yuuri’s pretty sure they’ll crack while cooking—it takes awhile to get the feel of it down—but pinching the dough together is easier, and Victor looks satisfied, which makes Yuuri smile.

“You’re a very good teacher.” Victor wipes his forehead, leaving a trail of flour there.

Yuuri snorts, half at him, half at the flour as he covers the loaves to let them rise again.

“I mean it, you know.”

“I… okay.” Yuuri starts as he realizes he actually believes him. He grabs at a towel, needing something to keep his hands busy. “Um, here, you have flour on your forehead.” He reaches up, leaning a bit onto his toes as he gently wipes Victor’s forehead.

And freezes. Gods, he’s touching Victor _again._ And he’s not pushing him away. He meets Victor’s eye that he can see around the towel, and they’re so close. Too close. But Yuuri still doesn’t move. He should move, he absolutely should be scrambling away before he does something he regrets, like leaning in and seeing what those lips feel like for himself without having to use any imagination—

“Is my forehead really that big, it takes so long to clean?” Victor clasps his hands over his face. “My hairline really is receding, isn’t it?”

“What? No!” Yuuri jumps back, throwing the towel like it’s caught fire. “Your forehead’s fine, it looks great, there’s nothing to worry about!”

Victor slides his hands down, eyeing Yuuri. “It looks great?”

“Um. Yes?” Yuuri squeaks. Was he fishing for compliments? And why does this not surprise him at all?

Victor smiles, opening his mouth—but it isn’t his voice that Yuuri hears next.

“Yuuri!”

A small smile spreads across Yuuri’s lips, partially because he gets to avoid whatever Victor was about to say that would undoubtedly make him want to crawl into the oven again, and second because he knows that voice better than his own.

He turns and runs from the kitchen, into the dining area to nearly collide with his parents standing just outside the curtain.

“Welcome home!” Yuuri grins, clasping his hands behind his back. “We managed to not burn the place down while you were gone.”

His father laughs. “I should hope not. Now, Mari says that you have news—oh!”

Both of his parents’ mouths pop open as the fabric rustles behind Yuuri. And there’s the urge to hop into an oven again. He hears snickering, turning just in time to see Mari covering her mouth with her hand. Yuuri glares.

“Lord Nikiforov, what an honor to have you at our humble inn!” Both of his parents fall into a bow, and suddenly Yuuri’s struck with the fact that he’s been calling him _Victor_ this whole time. When he is most definitely a lord. Practically royalty.

Yuuri glances behind him, but Victor’s waving a hand.

“Please, there’s no need to bow, nor be so formal. Call me Victor.” He smiles once they stand up straight. “And I’m not here as a guest, I’m here as Yuuri’s apprentice!”

Both his parents turn to him, but all he can do is shrug and raise his hands. He certainly doesn’t have any answers, other than apparently Victor’s easily impressed with mediocre sourdough. “He, um, said all he’d like for compensation is a place to stay, so I… didn’t say no?” He ends it like a question, like he didn’t commit to it yesterday and it’s still a discussion.

Because, impossibly, he still doesn’t want Victor to go.

“That’s more than reasonable. Are you sure you don’t want a wage?” His mother’s brow furrows.

“Yes, positive!” Victor clasps his hands behind his back, tossing the fringe of his hair. “I came here to learn from Yuuri, and that’s more than enough for me.”

His parents exchange a glance, having a silent conversation too quick for Yuuri to catch. Then his father smiles. “Well, how can we say no to this honor! Hopefully Yuuri isn’t pushing you too hard, he is a bit of a perfectionist.”

“Oh no, not at all!” Victor gives a small grin. “Yuuri’s a very patient teacher, especially with a student like me.”

Yuuri turns toward him, frowning. What does he mean, a student like him?

“Though…” Victor’s eyes flick to him before continuing. “Yuuri seemed very tired yesterday, and I doubt he’s recovered since then. Could we have the rest of the day off, and I’ll return him nice and refreshed tomorrow?”

“There’s no need, I’ll—”

“Yuuri.” His mom cuts him off, set of her mouth stern. “I think Victor’s idea is smart.”

Yuuri deflates. There’s no arguing with her when she’s like this, though he _knows_ he’ll be infinitely more exhausted after spending a day out with Victor. Gods, what does Victor even want to do with him?

“I agree!” His father clasps Yuuri on the shoulder. “You two go out and have fun.”

“Oh, we will!” Victor smiles as he laces his fingers through Yuuri’s, dragging him from where his parents were turning to chat with Mari and Phichit.

A chill of dread settles into the pit of Yuuri’s stomach. What on earth is Victor’s definition of fun, and is he prepared to find out?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off: WHO THE HECK ELSE IS FREAKING STOKED TO WATCH THE MOVIE ANNOUNCEMENT TOMORROW AHHHHHHHHHH
> 
> I’m waking up at 5am to watch the concert live, RIP me.
> 
> Second: See, I promised that there would be baking this chapter! Hopefully it’s alright—I had fun writing it, but I never know if that translates to something readers will enjoy reading. Thank you so much to everyone who leaves kudos, and I would probably kill for the people who leave me comments. <3
> 
> And shoutout to Blue for helping to beta this!!! As always, feel free to bug me on [Tumblr](http://kazul9.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Kazul9)!


	4. Chapter Four

Yuuri tries not to drag his feet along the cobblestones of the road. It’s a beautiful day out, spring having given way to summer a few weeks back in a mild burst of warmth. It’s cooler outside than the heat of the kitchen, at the very least, the breeze slipping underneath his chef’s coat, a refreshing chill against his skin after the work of this morning. Flowers bloom in rainbows out the window boxes of the crowded buildings of the streets, not too many people out.

But a lot of the people that _are_ out seem to be staring.

Even if they don’t recognize Victor, they recognize Yuuri. This is his street. And Victor hasn’t let go of his hand since they left the bakery.

Yuuri doesn’t want him to. He can’t stop glancing down at Victor’s hand wrapped around his, the only time he had let go being to take off aprons before they left. Which could have been seconds or hours ago, honestly.

“Do you not want to be out with me?”

“What?” Yuuri shoves down his thoughts, catching the furrow in Victor’s brow when he glances back.

“You don’t seem very, well, happy.” He doesn’t look around again, but Victor’s stride slows, and his shoulders are a little hunched.

“I am. Happy. To have you here. Being out with you.” The words choke out of Yuuri, forcing themselves out before he can regret them. Because he can’t regret them, not when they’re the truth, and not with how Victor perks up.

“Really?” Victor flashes him a smile, moving to walk beside him. “Even with how incompetent a student I am?”

Yuuri snorts. “I don’t think you’d have so much trouble if your teacher wasn’t so bad.”

Victor laughs, but it’s short and without humor. “Yakov would disagree with you there.”

Yuuri’s brow furrows. “Yakov thinks I'm a good teacher?”

His chuckle is more earnest this time. “No, that I’d learn better with a different teacher. I don’t really like rules, you see.” He throws Yuuri a wink.

How weird it is to be standing beside his idol and already getting used to his habit of winking. Not that he doesn’t feel some trickle of heat spreading along his cheeks. “Why don’t you?”

“Hmm.” Victor’s eyes lose focus as they move farther and farther from the bakery, turning down streets with such confidence that it’s as if this is where he lives and not Yuuri. “I suppose it’s the only way that I can really surprise people, anymore.”

“Why do you need to surprise them?” Yuuri frowns. “Your food is great because it’s _your_ food, not because you don’t make it like everyone else.”

Victor pauses, Yuuri taking a step ahead of him before turning back a little. “You’ve had my cooking before?”

Yuuri gives a soft huff. “Of course I have! It’s the first table I go to the moment I can at the banquet, ever since I was little.”

A grin spreads across Victor’s face while Yuuri’s cheeks nearly catch on fire. Of course he just had to confess about being a pathetic fool for Victor. It was like his subconscious had a vendetta against him and was determined to scare the man before the day was through. He glances away, eyeing a garden bursting with pastel colors, butterflies flitting around it. How long can this really last?

“I wish I’d noticed you before.”

Yuuri glances back. “Huh?”

Victor’s eyes capture Yuuri’s holding his gaze. “I’m always so busy being preened over, or discussing politics, or entertaining guests from other countries. I think that the banquets would have been much more exciting if I’d met you earlier.”

 _But you don’t know me_. The thought doesn’t escape his lips, but it echoes through his mind, trying to drag out sense and reason. He doesn’t know Yuuri, not after such short a time, and definitely not after one, disastrous morning of baking with him. But Yuuri knows that it would be true for _him_ even though the logic that rips apart Victor’s reasoning applies just the same. So he can’t outright deny it, a sliver of doubt whispering through his thoughts.

The startling blue of Victor’s eyes break the contact, and he takes a step forward and tugs at their still-clasped hands. “Have you ever had a pet, Yuuri?”

Yuuri takes a shaky breath, turning to catch a glimpse of a boy and his grey, fluffy dog bounding up the road. “Uh, well, there’s the firedrakes…?”

“Those don’t count.” Victor swings their hands slightly. “But you know what I mean.”

“I do.” Yuuri flushes a bit, forcing his brain to stay focused on the conversation. “When I was little I convinced my parents to adopt a puppy, but we only had him for a couple of weeks. He started to scare away the dragons, and guests were complaining about hair in their food, so… that was that.” No need to mention he may have named the dog after Victor.

Victor winces. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Yuuri gives Victor a smile. “Someday I’ll make it work. Maybe a smaller one, so it won’t get in the way. I was just a kid, so I think I can train one better now. How about you?”

He hesitates, but then shakes his head. “Since I was always in kitchens, I was never allowed. But I want one too, someday. Maybe you’re onto something with a smaller one.”

“Maybe—” Yuuri snaps his mouth shut. Maybe we should adopt one together is _not_ something to be asking his apprentice, and most definitely not something to ask Victor Nikiforov. He belongs in a castle, among the best of the best. He won’t be in Yuuri’s tiny kitchen forever, it must be a stifling place. Once he gets what he came for, whatever that is, he’ll be gone.

“What?” Victor tilts his head.

“Ah, nothing. Just, um, maybe that day will be sooner than you think?” Well, it’s not the worst thing Yuuri’s said today. Lies aren’t really his second nature, though he almost wishes they were as of late.

“That would be nice.” Victor grins. “We could take them on play dates.”

Yuuri laughs, trying to imagine such an absurd yet ordinary situation. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

They fall into a silence, easier than it was when they left the house. It seems like not as many people turn to look as they walk by, though maybe Yuuri’s paying less attention now. Then again, they are much farther from his house. There aren’t many shops here, the houses spread out, and dirt creeps onto the edges of the road. The wind’s stronger where it’s not stifled in tight streets he spends most of his time trapped in. When was the last time he left the house not on an errand? Phichit drags him out on occasion to go try eating at a new place, sometimes to festivals, but it’s not often. The Spring Festival would probably be the last one since Yuuri insisted on buckling down and focusing on the banquet in the months following. Not that the single-minded focus helped.

He glances up at Victor, the breeze tossing his hair lightly. He couldn’t call it a waste, though. If, somehow, Victor was telling the truth and Yuuri’s sourdough was what brought him here, then maybe it was worth it. He’d make Victor a loaf of sourdough every day for the rest of their lives to keep him here.

Yuuri frowns. No. He loves having Victor here, but he wouldn’t trap him. He couldn’t. Even if the man can be dramatic, even if he really doesn’t get how baking works, there seems to be a softness hidden in Victor that doesn’t deserve to be caged or restricted. It should shine in his food, and it should be shared with the world.

“Here we are!” Victor looks down at him, grinning like a child.

Yuuri snaps out of his thoughts, actually looking around. They’ve reached the end of the road, where a small wall blocks off some sand. And beyond that, waves gently collapse against the shore, the air carrying a moisture and a brininess that Yuuri can’t believe he didn’t notice before.

“Oh.” The beach. It’s been ages since Yuuri’s been down here. He used to come when he was younger, playing in the waves with his sister.He’d forgotten how comforting the rhythmic crashing of the waves is.

“Are you disappointed?” Victor stops, that crease forming on his forehead.

“No, not at all.” Yuuri resists the urge to rub the crease away. “Just, uh, with how things have been so far, I expected your definition of ‘fun’ to be a little more dramatic.”

Victor laughs. “Well, I meant to tell you where we were going, but I got distracted.”

“You break all the rules, and you’re easily distracted.” Yuuri gives a dramatic sigh. “What am I going to do with an apprentice like you?”

Victor gasps, but there’s a gleam to his eyes. “It’s only been a day, and I’m already a disappointment to my Chef! How can I live with this failure?”

Yuuri grins. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it up to me.”

Victor’s hand leaves his, and Yuuri almost reaches out for it again before Victor bends down to untie his shoes.

Sand getting inside his work shoes probably wouldn’t be a good idea. Yuuri steps over to the short wall, sitting down to get his own shoes off.

“Hmm.” Victor stands up, shoes in one hand, the other hand on his hip. “I wonder how I’ll do that.”

Yuuri glances up without moving his head. “Don’t take that as a challenge.”

But from Victor’s grin, it’s already too late. “I won’t drag you off again, or surprise you. I promise you’ll actually like it this time.”

Yuuri rises with a frown. “I haven’t hated anything you’ve done.”

“Oh?” Victor steps over the wall, holding his hand out to Yuuri again. “You _liked_ the salty brick I cooked this morning?”

Yuuri snorts, a fluttering in his stomach as his fingers brush Victor’s. “There’s, uh, some room for improvements there.”

“Exactly! I may not be great at baking, for example, but I can learn. Like you don’t really like surprises, do you?”

The fluttering in Yuuri settles into a warmth, blooming into his chest. “I… no. They aren’t really enjoyable for me.”

“And here I was trying to be a constant surprise for people.” Victor grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Looks like I’ll have to change.”

“No.” Yuuri shakes his head, gripping Victor’s hand. “I’m not like the people at the banquet, Victor. I’m not someone you have to impress, I’m just me. So just be you.”

“Me?” He stares at Yuuri a moment before looking out toward the ocean. The only sound for a while is the quiet rustle of their feet digging into the sand, and the steady crashing of the waves. “Okay. I’ll… I’ll do that.”

Yuuri almost swears he hears a crack in Victor’s voice, but he won’t push. “Good.”

They move closer to the water, and Yuuri bites his lip. Was that the right thing to say? It doesn’t sound like something that he should be saying to his apprentice—on that front, he should probably demand that Victor impresses him.

But it’s the truth. And he knows he can’t have a lot of things with Victor, but he’ll indulge in this.

“We should go swimming!”

Yuuri glances at Victor. “But I… I’m wearing my chef jacket?”

Victor winks. “Then take it off.”

Before he thinks about it, he drops Victor’s hand, face flaring red. “Um, no, thank you.”

“Come on!” Instead of taking Yuuri’s hand again, Victor sets down his shoes and runs into the water. A particularly high wave crashes into him, soaking him up to mid-thigh and leaving his pants clinging to his legs.

Yuuri gulps, his blush deepening.

“But I… I…”

“Do you not like the ocean?” Victor kicks at a wave as it comes in, laughing as it almost knocks him over. “But you live so close! We don’t have to swim, but let’s walk in the waves, at least.”

He hesitates, but Yuuri knows he can’t say no. Not to anything Victor asks him. So he sets his shoes next to Victor’s and he walks forward, curling his toes into the wet sand, bracing himself as a wave soaks him up to his knees. It’s warmer than he would have thought—the ocean always takes so long to warm up.

“Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Victor teases, almost taunts.

Yuuri resists the urge to stick his tongue out, but _doesn’t_ resist kicking some salty water at Victor.

Victors eyes go wide as he takes a step back to not fall back into the waves.

Yuuri laughs, almost doubling over. Prim, composed, perfect Victor sopping and surprised isn’t something he ever thought he’d see, but man is it priceless.

Until Victor kicks water at him, catching him so off guard he stumbles back and falls into the shallow water.

Victor wades over to him, holding out a hand as his bangs drip into Yuuri’s lap. He takes the hand, but doesn’t use it to stand up. Instead, he yanks Victor down with a splash. Before he can recover, Yuuri leaps to his feet and starts running away, unable to contain the giggles bubbling up from his chest.

He hears splashes follow behind him, gaining on him until Victor’s arms wrap around his waist, pulling them both down into deeper water.Yuuri squirms free, then starts splashing Victor with everything he’s got, Victor fighting back just as hard. It’s all a blur of laughter and salt and water shining in the sun, and Yuuri doesn’t ever want it to stop.

But eventually their arms grow tired, their legs weak, and they collapse on the sand. Yuuri’s sure he’ll be finding sand in every nook and cranny of himself for days, but he doesn’t care. He can’t.

That just happened. That just _happened_. He feels light in a way he doesn’t know if he’s ever felt before. The nervousness that always lingers in his thoughts is of course there, but it isn’t smothering. It just seems to hum, the same way the rest of his body does. It’s almost like eating a perfectly enchanted muffin, the sort that had the baker’s absolute undivided attention and power of the sorts you don’t taste very often, that lingering feeling of something wonderful and other running through Yuuri’s veins.

Once he catches his breath, Yuuri sits up, stealing a glance at Victor. He’s more disheveled than Yuuri’s ever seen him, but it’s… nice. His hair’s plastered to his head, sticking up in weird cowlicks here and there, his cheeks flushed, and his pristine chef coat all bunched up and seeping into the sand around him. He looks, well, cute.

“How can you even sit up?” Victor practically pants. “I think you might have to carry me back.”

Yuuri laughs. “Who knew the great Victor Nikiforov was such a wimp.”

“Hey!” Victor flicks some sand at him. “You’re the one who started it.”

Yuuri flushes. Damn, he did, didn’t he? “Well, you’re the one who wanted to go swimming.”

“Touché.” Victor gives a lazy smile. “I guess we’re at a tie then.”

Yuuri hums his agreement. “Sure. For now.”

Victor snorts, sitting up. “Let’s save that rematch for another day. For now, why don’t we—”

Yuuri’s stomach chooses that moment to let out a loud rumble, reminding him that he hasn’t eaten since this morning. He flushes, grasping his middle like that might shut it up.

Victor laughs. “Well, I guess your gut has plans of its own. Let’s head back and eat then, if you want?”

Yuuri nods, standing up, and this time offering his hand to Victor. He takes it. They help brush each other’s sandy backs off, Yuuri trying and failing to not notice how intimate the whole thing feels, and they start wandering back.

“What do you normally do in your free time, Yuuri?” Victor asks as they finally locate their shoes.

“Um. Not much?”

Victor glances at him with an eyebrow raised.

Yuuri sighs. “Really, it’s boring. Sometimes I’ll hang out with Phichit or Mari. Sometimes I’ll read. That’s about it.” Yuuri leads them back to the road, carrying his shoes away from his body so he doesn’t drip in them. “What about you?”

“Hmm.” Victor tilts his head. “A lot of the same, actually. Yakov keeps his chefs on a tight schedule, so sometimes I’ll sneak off to have fun with the other lords, but I haven’t in awhile.” He turns to Yuuri, slipping their hands together again. “Sounds like we could both use some time for fun. Perhaps we could look for some together?”

“I-I wouldn’t mind.” The words come out quiet, but Yuuri can’t stop them. Another truth thrown out there.

“Good.” Victor squeezes his hand. “I wouldn’t mind either.”

Yuuri’s heart thumps in his chest, so loud that Victor can probably hear it. Still, he grins. He’s not sure how he’ll be any fun, or how he’ll find any of it together with Victor, but he’ll try. As long as Victor’s here to share it with him, so long as he wants it, Yuuri will keep trying.

Conversation floats easier between them than Yuuri ever thought would be possible as they make their way back to the inn. It’s amazing what walls getting into a splashing match with your idol seems to break down, even if it’s only temporary.

Again, Yuuri’s mind wanders to _why_. His bread isn’t good enough to warrant this, that’s for sure. But something captured Victor’s attention enough to drag him here, something at the banquet. Maybe he just wants a break from the palace? Yuuri knows he’d find it stifling, but Victor grew up with it, he’s never had a break. And it would make this whole “fun” thing have some sense to it, too. Or…

“There you two are.”

Yuuri jumps, jolting out of his thoughts to find Mari leaning against the wall beneath the sign of the inn.

“What’s wrong?” Yuuri glances around, looking for any reason she might be out waiting for him.

“Nothing. You just have _another_ guest here for you.” She jerks her head at the door. “And this one’s even more annoying.”

Yuuri glances up at Victor, but he just shrugs. No one he’s expecting. And it’s not like Yuuri knows many people outside of work.

With a deep breath and another puzzled look at Mari, he pushes through the door.

And barely resists the urge to turn back around and head right out again. The only thing that stops him is knowing he’d have to push through Victor to escape.

Because standing in the dining area, looking just as out of place in his fine chef coat as Victor did that morning, is the last person Yuuri ever wanted to see again.

Yuri Plisetsky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at all this lewd hand holding. Disgusting.
> 
> And on that note, who’s ready for Yurio drama next chapter? ‘CAUSE I AM.
> 
> Blue beta’d this chapter, but it was a serious mess (like me; I've barely slept this week), so don't blame her for anything missed. Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed the beach episode *cough* chapter! :D We’re into five-digits with that word count, too! When I started this, I promised myself it’d only be maybe 15k tops, so I could get fanfic out of my system and get back to my original projects.
> 
> I have clearly lied to myself.
> 
> (On both counts, too—I’m playing around with a YoI Hades and Persephone kinda retelling. Idk if I’ll get to writing it, but it has a KILLER first line. *sighs at self* And I do love me my angst, though you can’t tell from this fic.)
> 
> Okay, time to stop rambling. As always, I’m on [Tumblr](http://kazul9.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Kazul9), kudos make me day, and comments give me life!


	5. Chapter Five

For a long moment, everyone’s still. Yuuri can’t think beyond the last word that the other Yuri had muttered at him last time they met: _Pathetic_. It clashes violently with the memories of what just happened, making them seem fake. Some wild fantasy that Yuuri just came up with.

Which he wouldn’t mind, but that wouldn’t explain his soaking clothes, Victor’s warmth behind him, nor Yuri staring daggers at the two of them.

Yuri gets up from the table he was sitting at, marching across the room and startling the few guests. “What in seven gods and seven hells were you two up to? You look like mangy dogs.”

“It’s good to see you too, Yuri!” There’s a smile in Victor’s voice, somehow.

“That doesn’t answer my question, idiot.” Yuri bares his teeth at Victor.

“U-um, maybe we should move this to the kitchen? Or outside?” Yuuri glances around at the guests.

Yuri turns his glare on Yuuri, and the latter shrinks back—right into Victor.

Who puts an arm around Yuuri’s shoulder. It’s weirdly comforting after, well, earlier today. Something changed. Yuuri can’t pinpoint what, or when, or even if it’s only him. But something’s different.

And he’d really appreciate having to have the time to think it over without an angry little teenager growling at him.

“I’m not moving until _you_ ,” Yuri jabs a finger at Victor, “tell me what you’re doing here.”

“Didn’t Yakov tell you?” Victor grins. Is he _enjoying_ this?

Yuri scoffs. “Like he’d spill after all the chaos you caused. I had to go ask Chris, and let me tell you it was _hell_ getting out of the palace unnoticed. You don’t wanna know what I had to do.”

Yuuri glances up at Victor. What did he do to come here? And _why_? Unlike this morning, however, the doubt is tempered with something else. Something warm and soothing in his chest.

Victor smiles down at him, hand squeezing slightly before answering, “I came here so Yuuri would teach me how to bake.”

Oh. Yeah. He’s supposed to somehow do that again tomorrow, isn’t he?

“You think you’re gonna get an edge over me?” Yuri leans in close. “Fine. I’m going to stay here and learn whatever this… _pig_ has to teach, too.”

Yuuri’s pretty sure his stomach falls through his abdomen and splats onto the floor. Maybe he can try and teach Victor again tomorrow, but this kid?

Victor waves his free hand. “Your grandfather would never let you stay.”

But Yuri’s face only gets more vicious, like he’s about to let out an animal’s snarl. As if Victor’s words are more of a challenge than anything.

“Um.” Yuuri shifts, fidgeting with the sleeves of his chef coat. “Don’t you hate my bread? Why do you want to learn from me too?”

Yuri scoffs. “I don’t care how unrefined your baking is, I’m not letting the geezer get any advantage. I’m sitting on that throne next, not him.”

Yuuri waits for Victor to give some response, to tease Yuri or talk him down, but he just gives a small smile.

So Yuuri has to deal with it. Somehow. He takes a deep breath, mind racing. “Why don’t you stay a day? You can see what we’re up to tomorrow, and I’m sure you’ll be satisfied that I’m not teaching Victor anything a thousand other chefs couldn’t teach him better.”

Victor’s smile fades a bit.

Yuri juts out his chin. “Fine. And if that’s true, I take Victor back with me.”

Yuuri opens his mouth, but no words come out. It _is_ true, but he doesn’t want to lose Victor.

“Deal!” Victor beams.

Oh no. No, no, _no_. Yuuri’s plan was simple, it made _sense_. Why does Victor always seem to toss sense out the window at every turn?

Victor’s hand falls on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Remember when I said I’d find a way to take messing up and make it up to you at the beach?”

Yuuri’s mind races to find the memory, nodding as he latches onto it.

“Consider this a part of that.”

Yuuri gapes. Torturing him is paying him back? “But you said that I’d like it.”

“ _Did_ I?” Victor taps a finger to his lips, as if it covers up his grin—though it does distract Yuuri for a second.

Yuuri shakes his head. “Well, you definitely said you wouldn’t surprise me.”

Victor raises an eyebrow. “I think Yuri showing up out of the blue is more of a surprise.”

Yuuri guffaws. “Him wanting to learn from me is a surprise!”

Victor frowns for a moment, the expression vanishing with a wink. “I hardly think so. You shouldn’t be surprised, either.”

“Can you morons stop talking like I’m not even here?” Yuri jabs into the conversation.

“Maybe if you were less rude, it would be easier to ignore you.” Victor smiles down at Yuri, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Maybe if you stopped being obnoxious, I wouldn’t have to be rude.” Yuri stands on his toes, trying to meet Victor’s eyes.

Yuuri shifts on his feet, trying to shoot apologetic smiles to the few guests, but probably more grimacing than anything. “Hey, we, um, we settled it. Maybe we could… eat lunch?” Yes, good idea—shove food in their mouths so they stop bickering.

“Oh, yes, that’s why we came back!” Victor smiles. “We should probably freshen up first, though.”

Yuuri picks at his chef coat, starting to go a little stiff with the sea water as it dries. “Good idea.”

“And what the hell am I gonna do?” Yuri crosses his arms.

“Oh, you need a babysitter?” Victor nearly _coos_.

“How about you help me make some katsudon for you all?” Yuuri’s mom comes up behind them. “Or you could rest out here with the other guests after your long journey.”

Yuuri breathes out a sigh. If anyone can handle this hissing and spitting kitten, it would be his mom. And, on top of that… “Katsudon?” Yuuri can’t hide the squeak of excitement in his voice, despite himself.

“What’s that?” Victor tilts his head.

“A recipe passed down along my mom’s side of the family.” Yuuri wrings his hands, glancing around the room. “It’s my favorite. Though I probably shouldn’t have it…”

Victor frowns. “Why’s that?”

“I, um, put on weight easily.” Yuuri looks down. “And with the banquet the other day, I’ve been indulging too much.”

Yuri snickers. “Little piggy.”

“Yuri.” Victor snaps.

“This is going to get confusing, fast.” Mari walks over, considering, before pointing at Yuri. “From now on, you’ll be Yurio.”

“What? Hell no!”

“Too bad!” Victor grins wide. “I like it.”

“My grandfather is the head chef of this country, I’ll make you all regret this,” Yurio fumes, to the point Yuuri nearly expects smoke to come out of his ears.

“Come along, Yurio!” Yuuri’s mom says cheerfully as she heads back to the kitchen. “Let’s get to work.”

Yuri becomes as red as a cherry, but follows the directions, glaring over his shoulder at Victor until he disappears behind the curtain.

“Well, isn’t this exciting,” Victor mumbles, not sounding all that excited.

“That’s not the word I’d use.” Yuuri takes a deep breath. “C’mon, let’s get changed.”

He heads upstairs, and it takes a moment for Victor’s footsteps to follow and go off to his own room.

Yuuri takes his time peeling out of his wet clothes, then taking a washcloth to wipe the salt from his body. He’s already had enough excitement in the past couple days to last a lifetime, and he could use what little break he can get from it to actually think.

He can’t believe all of this has only been going on for a day. It feels like a week, at least. And he feels like he might keel over if he doesn’t sit down and rest for a bit. It’s almost like when he ate some of those croissants from a bad batch—their last hired help before Phichit was very enthusiastic, but his magic was… interesting. Except this is so much better, and so much worse.

What he wouldn’t give to just be able to kick Yuri out and pretend the kid never showed up. But he’s obviously a part of Victor’s life, and if he wants Victor here, he’ll have to at least try to accommodate him. And he is just a teenager, really.

Though does he really have something up his sleeves that would impress even a teenager that grew up in the palace with the fine food there? He couldn’t even make anything decent for the banquet, and he’d had weeks to prepare for that…

Except, this time he doesn’t need to have a table full of baked goods to impress a whole castle of people. Just two. Albeit two that are overwhelming to even think about, and one of which was the only person he was trying to impress in the first place, but still. It’s another chance.

He may not have a lot to teach Victor, but he’s obviously got a bit to learn about baking. Most chefs have no idea what goes into baking. For instance, Yuuri knows his mom will never quite get it. She loves what he makes, but ask her to even make so much as a batch of cookies and prepare for a dry mouth at best, and an upset stomach for days at worst.

But Victor’s brilliant in a way that this little inn has never seen. He isn’t used to the precise nature of baking as opposed to cooking—didn’t he just say he was used to surprising people? There aren’t a lot of surprises to be had in baking, other than maybe bread rising a different way on humid days and cold days. “Surprises” have to be planned, calculated.

And… he can show Victor how to do that. Maybe.

But he won’t know if he doesn’t try. He’ll lose Victor if he doesn’t try.

And that’s not an option.

Yuuri stands up, taking a deep breath and clenching his fists. He still doesn’t understand why Victor chose him, of all people, to teach him how to bake, and he can do this.

But he can do it.

So long as he can somehow impress the angry teenager downstairs.

He leaves his room, heading down the stairs and hoping that he didn't keep them too long. But no one’s eating yet, yurio having emerged from the kitchen to sit at a table with Victor, luckily removed from he rest of the guests. Victor laughs, sending Yuuri’s stomach fluttering, and Yurio’s face goes a bright shade of red as he bares his teeth. Yuuri picks up his pace before there’s bloodshed.

“Perfect timing, Yuuri!” His mother pecks him on the cheek as he crosses the room, three large bowls carefully balanced on her arms.

He takes a couple of the dishes from his mom, who smiles at him as they walk to the table. Maybe this will keep them from scaring the customers away. Hopefully.

Victor perks up once he catches Yuuri’s eye, smiling at him.

Heat creeps onto Yuuri’s cheeks, and he ducks his head as he puts a bowl of katsudon down in front of Victor.

“Wow!” Victor inspects the dish, eyes wide. “This looks amazing!”

Yurio grumbles something that sounds vaguely complimentary as Yuuri’s mom sets the dish down in front of him, and Yuuri takes his own seat next to Victor. He makes sure his chair is a good distance from Victor—he has to focus if he’s going to deal with the two of them.

Luckily Victor either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care—Yuuri would guess the latter with how reverently he picks up his utensils and starts to poke at the dish.

“You said this was a family recipe?” Victor murmurs, eyes not wandering from the dish.

Yurio snorts, though he pokes at it much the same.

“Yeah.” Yuuri pauses, food half-way to his mouth. He really should’ve protested more to his mom making this, but how can he say no when it’s right in front of him? “Been in the family for generations.”

“Then have you made it? I’d love to try some you made.” Victor almost _bounces_ at the idea.

Yuuri bites back a snort. “I’ve made it, yeah. But no one makes it like my mom, and I’m not the best at cooking, anyway. It’s why I bake.”

“What d’you mean?” Yurio tilts his head.

Yuuri blinks. That may be the first non-malicious thing the kid’s said. “With cooking it’s all less… precise? I don’t like eyeballing things, I don’t like changing things constantly. It never comes out right.”

“Well, I suppose that’s alright. Your bread truly is masterful.” Victor smiles.

Yuuri hunches over his dish. “You’ve only ever had my sourdough.”

Luckily Victor doesn’t press the issue, instead turning to his dish and taking painstaking care to get a little of everything in his first bite.

He takes his bite, chews, and _moans_.

Yuuri shoves his bite into his mouth—and almost missing—before he can think too much about the noise he just heard. And he doesn’t blame Victor for it. His mom’s food might not be flashy on the outside like the palace chefs’ work, but her magic shines in the flavors. The perfect crisp of the fried pork contrasting beautifully with the soft egg and mingling with the sweet and saltiness of the sauce and caramelized onions, mellowed out and melded together by the perfectly cooked rice.

He bites back a moan of his own. Damn this is so good. Dangerously good.

“This is… not bad.” Yuri’s eyes are wide, face almost innocent as he chews.

“Right?” Yuuri grins, taking another bite.

“I can see why this is your favorite. You have excellent taste, Yuuri.” Victor beams. “I can see where you get your talent from.”

Yuuri hunches down a little, over his bowl. “I take more after my dad, with the baking. But my mom really is brilliant.”

“Who knew brilliancy was hereditary.” Victor winks, taking another bite.

How Yuuri hasn’t died from this man already, he doesn’t know.

“We’ll see if he’s actually any good tomorrow,” Yurio mutters, still stabbing his food, almost with a single-minded purpose.

“Um, speaking of.” Yuuri latches onto anything he can to get the topic off of him. “What were you thinking you’d like me to bake tomorrow?”

Yurio tilts his head, considering. “I dunno. What about, like, croissants?”

Yuuri gapes, then shakes his head. “Are you joking?”

“What, you don’t think you can do it?” Yurio sneers.

Well, they aren’t exactly easy, but that’s not really the problem. “They take three days to make. Properly, at least.” And he’s not cheating while this whole apprenticeship with Victor’s on the line. Even it the man’s dead set on flustering him to death.

They both stop eating to stare at him. “ _What_?”

Yuuri blinks. How little do they really know? He’s always heard that the castle keeps culinary and baking more strictly apart than they ever had at his family’s tiny inn, but this…

“How about your sourdough, it’s so lovely,” Victor preens.

“We’ve already had that plain garbage,” Yurio spits, shoving in another mouthful.

Victor brow furrows, his lips twitching down, and he looks almost… _angry_.

Yuuri frowns, trying to think before they’re at risk of scaring away the guests again. Something simple enough he’ll be able to make and bake by tomorrow, but nothing too easy… “How about some ciabatta?”

“Oh, that sounds lovely!” Victor says as Yurio demands, “Some what?”

“It’s, um, a delicate bread? Very airy, but with a nice crust.” Well, Yuuri could’ve said that about most breads, but it’s the best he’s got. How do you really describe a kind of bread that someone hasn’t had before?

“I guess that works.” Yurio shrugs. “Whatever.”

“Anything you make is sure to be brilliant, Yuuri.” Victor gives him a smile.

“Ugh, stop being gross.” Yurio stabs his dish. “We’re here to learn baking from the pig, not _flirt_.”

“Well, who says I can’t do both?” Victor doesn’t even look up from eating.

Yurio looks like he’s about to explode and Yuuri is pretty sure he might keel over then and there. He’s just teasing Yurio, Yuuri knows this, but it doesn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat and then racing to catch up to where it left off.

He shoves the rest of his food in his mouth, barely taking the time to taste it before pushing back from his seat. “I’m, uh, gonna go take care of my plate and start the poolish.”

“The _what_?” Yurio stares at him, while Victor cocks his head.

“It’s the starter for the ciabatta.” Yuuri takes a halting step back. “The leaven? Mother? Uh, never mind.”

Victor’s brow furrows. “Do you want help?”

“No!” Yuuri squeaks. “No, I’m fine. It’s not that hard. Take your time and enjoy your meal.”

Yuuri grabs his bowl, scurrying away.

Though he catches Yurio saying, “See? Keep that up and you’ll keep scaring him off…”

Pushing through the flap of fabric into the kitchen, he nearly slumps into the sink with relief as he puts his plate in.

“Looks like someone’s had an exciting day.” Phichit comes up next to him, wiggling his eyebrows.

Yuuri snorts. “That’s an understatement.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

With a deep breath, Yuuri proceeds to recount the story of what’s happened since his parents came home, grabbing out all the prep for the poolish and giving it a quick whisk to set it up. His mother comes in and out, his father poking in now and then, but they don’t interrupt the boys, preferring to spend time with the guests when they aren’t busy. It doesn’t take very long before Yuuri’s covering up the poolish and wrapping up his story, Phichit’s distractions taking more time than the task at hand.

“Holy crap, Yuuri.” Phichit scrubs some burnt junk out of a frying pan.

“I know.” Yuuri rubs his forehead, trying to wrap his brain around everything. “I guess on the bright side, maybe all of this craziness might be over tomorrow?”

“Do you want that?” Phichit stops scrubbing to glance over his shoulder at Yuuri.

Yuuri shakes his head. “I don’t.”

Phichit grins. “Atta boy. Go get ‘em with that ciabatta.” He pauses as what seems to be Yurio’s angry voice seeps into the kitchen. “Assuming that kid doesn’t get you first.”

“So helpful.” Yuuri rolls his eyes, but then grins and goes over to help Phichit wash some dishes before he’ll eventually have to go and manage his two guests.

Which, considering Yurio’s voice is still audible from the kitchen, will be soon.

Still, Yuuri can only resent it so much. A warm fluttering fills his chest at the thought of having a second chance, of being able to prove himself. He still doesn’t know if he can, but he wants it.

Even with all the trouble Victor certainly brings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOO BOY, I am so happy I’ve eaten katsudon so I could write this. Albeit I think what I had wasn’t the best, but it was enough to get the flavor profile. (The pork in the one I had was overcooked. ;A; *cries salty chef tears*) Anyhow, hopefully you enjoyed that food porn.
> 
> You may have also noticed I changed the rating to teen—I just can't keep Yruio from them cusses, tbh.
> 
> And pls forgive me for only getting so much done in these hulking 3k chapters.
> 
> As always, thank you to my wonderful beta Blue for helping me with my oodles of typos and awkward wordings! You can catch me on [Tumblr](http://kazul9.tumblr.com/) and/or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Kazul9) spewing nonsense, those of you who leave kudos are absolutely fabulous, and I owe a part of my soul to those who leave comments. <3


	6. Chapter Six

Yurio, naturally, stays at the inn as well. He’s still insistent that Victor doesn’t gain an upper hand in anything, though Yuuri still has no idea what Victor could learn here that he couldn’t learn at the palace kitchens.

The thought doesn’t make him want to crawl and hide in the oven with the dragons anymore, at least. It’s confusing and frustrating, but also a little like… a challenge. Yuuri needs to become something that keeps Victor here.

Whatever the hells that would be.

Yuuri spends most of his night tossing and turning as his mind races. He doesn’t make ciabatta that often, but it isn’t overly complicated—thank goodness croissants take three days to make because that might have been too complex. He always overworks the dough…

Then he rolls over again, and tries to think about the future. What does he want from Victor? What will he teach him, how long will he have? He should really just ask Victor. He talks himself through dozens of possible conversations, each more ridiculous than the last, until he rolls over again and tries to only think about tomorrow.

Eventually, Yuuri cracks his eyes open and catches the dim light of dawn seeping through the thin blinds of his window. Honestly, if it weren’t for the light, he’d probably sleep into the afternoon every day. Like the day after that damn banquet. He wracks his brain, but he still has no memory of anything past running away from Victor. What did he do? If only he could ask someone who was there. Victor was there, obviously, but of course he didn’t see Yuuri again.

Though… didn’t Phichit say that he thought he say Yuuri dancing with Victor?

Yuuri sits up straight in bed. No. That’s not possible. He was so drunk he can’t even remember the night, there isn’t any possible way that he had the coordination to dance. And he was so terrified of Victor that he ran from him. It’s just not possible.

Except…

He shakes his head, leaving his bed and getting dressed before he can obsess over it anymore. It’s done, it’s over, he doesn’t have to think about it ever again. Or at least, he’ll try not to.

With a yawn, he opens his door and heads through the narrow hallway and down the stairs—and pauses. Something smells good. His stomach agrees, rumbling loudly.

Part of being the baker for his family’s little inn means that he’s the first one to fill the kitchen with scentsof fresh bread and pastries in the morning, letting the guests rise to the comforting smells. But this isn’t bread, it’s too rich for that.

Tentatively, Yuuri crosses the empty, silent dining area and peeks behind the curtain.

Victor stands in the kitchen, and only Victor. He hums as he works, placing some pots and pans back from where they’re drying by the sink with a confidence like this kitchen is his own.

Then he turns and catches Yuuri staring. “Yuuri! I was wondering if I should come and wake you, I’m not sure how early you have to get up to start baking.”

Yuuri has half a mind to ask how exactly Victor knows where his room is, or if he was going to go knocking on doors until he found him, but he bites back the question. “I get a later start than a lot of bakers, I just work quick and try to prep well.”

“So you like to sleep in?” Victor grins.

Yuuri frowns and takes a few steps in. “That’s one way to put it. What’re you up to?”

Victor beams, eye crinkles and all. “I made breakfast!” He gestures broadly with his arms toward a couple of plates on the workbench.

There’s a layer of toast on the bottom—the perfect golden-brown kind that Yuuri always tends to over-do or under-do—and on top of that are some slightly wilted greens, a nice slice of what might be ham, amazingly perfect poached eggs, all covered in a thick yellow sauce that already has Yuuri’s mouth watering. And all around it are glimmering lights, like the kind that float around the castle.

“After yesterday, I figured I ought to. Toast really isn’t the way to start off the day, wouldn’t you agree?” He picks up a plate and hands it to Yuuri. “And I adjusted it, so it shouldn’t be too heavy for you after the katsudon yesterday.”

“What time did you get up?” Yuuri looks between the dish and Victor. Seven gods and seven hells, he’s about to eat Victor’s food for breakfast. And he remembered what Yuuri had said yesterday, and… tears prick in his eyes, and he fights them back. It’s way too early for this.

Victor shrugs. “I’m used to getting up early. Do you want it? Or do you not really like eating breakfast?”

“No, I do!” Yuuri grabs at the plate, trying not to accidentally drop it or fling it in his haste. “I guess you’re a fan, then?”

“Absolutely!” Victor smiles, grabbing the second plate. “Let’s eat, hmm?”

He guides Yuuri to the small table in the kitchen, where sometimes the regular chefs would sit and take breaks. It’s still so strange to see Victor Nikiforov with his silvery hair and expensive chef coats in Yuuri’s ordinary kitchen.

“You really didn’t have to,” Yuuri almost whispers as he sets down his plate, watching the small sparkles flit around in the dim morning light.

“I wanted to.” Victor’s smile is small, honest in the crinkling of skin around his eyes. “For the first time in a long time.”

“What?” Yuuri looks up at him.

“Ah, nothing. What are the plans for today?” Victor begins to make himself a bite. “Are you working on the ciabatta after eating?”

Yuuri narrows his eyes, letting Victor know that he gets he’s changing the subject—and letting him get away with it. “I figured I’d wait until Yurio’s up before I start, so he won’t get angry.”

“Well, he’s going to be angry no matter what.” Victor rolls his eyes. “But that’s nice of you.”

Yuuri snorts, then works on taking a bite of his food. He almost wants to shove the whole thing in his mouth so he doesn’t cut it up and ruin how pretty it is. He’d ruin his chef coat and probably lose half the dish, though. “Is this the same sort of enchantment that affects the palace?” Yuuri murmurs as he finally brings up a bite. “I’ve always wondered how you do it.”

“What can I say? It’s magic,” Victor says with a wink, popping the next bite of food into his mouth.

Rolling his eyes, Yuuri takes a bite—and moans. The sauce is so creamy and thick, the eggs perfectly runny and melting with the salty sweetness of the ham, but the greens add a refreshing break to all the richness. And of course there’s the bread, which… is Yuuri’s sourdough? “Is this my bread?”

Victor takes a second to blink, then clear his throat. “Um, yes. There was some leftover from yesterday, so I hope that’s all right?”

Yuuri nods, taking another bite and closing his eyes. Gods, there’s a reason that Victor’s considered one of the best chefs in the country. He so easily is. And he was in Yuuri’s kitchen, making him breakfast—Yuuri feels the tears prick at his eyes again.

It’s too early for emotions.

“Is it all right?” Victor’s voice is a little high, a little… nervous?

Yuuri opens his eyes, finding a wrinkle between Victor’s eyebrows. It takes effort to keep his jaw from dropping. “It’s brilliant, Victor. The seasoning’s perfect, the texture is amazing, and it looks so good I almost don’t want to touch it. I couldn’t have asked for anything better for breakfast, I—” He cuts himself off before the gushing gets to be too much.

Victor beams. “I’m so happy you like it!”

Yuuri braces himself for the inevitable teasing that usually comes with Victor, but he just keeps eating. So Yuuri gives him a tentative smile before joining him.

It takes all of Yuuri’s self-control not to keep complimenting Victor’s food and making obscene noises, and he mostly resists. Victor seems to enjoy his enjoyment anyway, smile and eyes wide every time that Yuuri catches himself. Which naturally shuts Yuuri up as he stares because somehow he manages to keep forgetting just how gorgeous Victor is.

Needless to say, it takes awhile to eat. By the time they’re done, Yuuri’s behind on getting things ready for the morning, but he can’t bring himself to care as much as he should. In fact, he finds himself almost bouncing as he shows Victor how to make scones, helps him fill and place muffin pans in the oven, and walks him through how to make a couple kinds of bread dough—without leaving him to his own devices, this time. Yuuri definitely remembers eating Victor’s bread at some banquet, even if he doesn’t remember when, and he doesn’t remember it tasting that bad. Though… really, when was that?

“Morning!” Phichit chirps as he brushes past the curtain and into the kitchen. “Oh, looks like you guys were much more productive this morning.”

“Yep! No solid bricks of over-salted bread. Poor dragons get no treats.”Victor frowns dramatically at the ovens.

Yuuri honestly didn’t know people could do things like frown dramatically before Victor Nikiforov.

“You did what?” Yuri growls, coming from behind Phichit.

“Yurio! How nice of you to finally wake up.” Victor says, taking a step to the side so that the workbench is directly between him and Yurio.

“Don’t call me that,” Yurio grumbles. Looks like he loses a bit of his bite, first thing in the morning.

Yuuri sighs. Of course the one person who can understand his hatred of mornings is the aggressive teenager. “Do you want to eat before we start?”

“Here!” Phichit grabs a chocolate chip muffin from a rack, shoving it into Yurio’s hands. “Those are the best ones.”

“That’s because you have the world’s biggest sweet tooth.” Yuuri laughs.

Yurio takes a bite and doesn’t make a face, so that’s probably a good sign. “Are you going to make your chiabottle now?”

“Ciabatta,” Victor chirps the correction. “If you don’t listen, you aren’t going to learn anything.”

Yurio snorts. “Don’t try and pretend you’re Yakov. I might not remember the name of the stupid bread, but at least I try to learn. It’s just a dumb name.”

“Every detail matters with food, Yuri, you know that.” Victor smiles, but it’s one of those ones that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Details?” Yurio scoffs. “I doubt you even remember what you ate for breakfast this morning.”

There, Victor’s smile grows into something real, his eyes meeting Yuuri’s. “Oh, I most definitely do.”

Yurio looks over to Yuuri and gags, Phichit’s eyebrows shooting up into his hair.

“Um, let’s start on the bread?” Yuuri squeaks.

“Of course!” Victor’s grin only spreads.

Yuuri doesn’t even try to open his mouth again, cheeks burning as he moves over to the bowl on the counter. He takes the towel off it, adjusting his glasses and peering in. The pale, liquid mass has a few bubbles, almost foam-like, but thicker. Thank goodness. He hadn’t thought about it until now, but if he miss-measured something, or it hadn’t decided to take…

“It smells.” Yurio’s nose wrinkles.

“Starters are just fermented flour and water that make the dough rise and help give it it’s flavor.” Yuuri starts grabbing another bowl and the rest of the ingredients he’ll need. “That’s why, for example, every sourdough you eat tastes different. Each starter was grown differently with a different recipe, and where it is, what’s in the air, the weather conditions, it all changes the bread. And…” Oh no, he’s rambling again. Yuuri shuts his mouth, teeth clicking.

“The baker affects the taste too, right?” Victor peers curiously over his shoulder. “Your bread has a flavor that’s uniquely you.”

“Um,” Yuuri squeaks. “Yeah. I mean, the magic does that. Just like anything you make tastes like you. I mean, uh. You know what I mean.”

“Well it’s not like you can measure it, so it doesn’t exactly matter.” Yurio crosses his arms, eyes not leaving Yuuri’s hands as they begin kneading.

“It’s what makes the dish yours, so I think it matters.” Yuuri smiles as he works the wet dough, his fingertips tingling with his own magic while he lets himself fall into the familiar movements.

Yurio huffs. “I guess it’s not nothing.”

They’re quiet for a minute, and instead of feeling their eyes on him, Yuuri lets himself focus on the dough, what he wants it to be. This is what he’s going to use to keep Victor here. It’s all he has. He doesn’t have the fancy floating lights of the palace, he can’t make the same sort of delicacies as Victor, he isn’t cooking royalty like Yurio, but he has his magic. He has… whatever it is that Victor came here for. And he can figure that out, if he stays. Maybe he could even surpass it, he could be more than what Victor could hope for.

Well, maybe that’s a bit of a stretch. But with this dough, with this bread, he can try. And he will.

“Is it supposed to be so wet?” Yurio pokes at the bread.

“Yeah.” Yuuri takes off a piece of dough and pops it in his mouth. “It’s supposed to be wet so that—”

“Did you just _eat_ the dough?” Yurio grimaces.

Phichit sighs behind them. “This again.”

Yuuri laughs a little, running through the same story as yesterday, while setting both Yurio and Victor on the task of making some muffin batter since they were running low, and business was bound to pick up with the weekend. After all, he haa both Victor and Yurio here to draw attention.

All the while he pays attention to the ciabatta. It needs to be gently folded and proofed three times, and it requires a lot of care so it doesn’t overproof and ruin the bread. Victor pipes in a few times, but mostly just observes with an attention that almost has Yuuri flushing sometimes. Yurio’s quick to leave whatever he’s doing to come and ask questions, sometimes getting a teasing scolding, but mostly he seems genuinely interested underneath some, well, harsh words.

One of them can only say what they mean hidden beneath layers of hissing and spitting, the other never says anything straight around teasing and flirting. Thank goodness at least one of them’s leaving soon, or else Yuuri might lose his mind.

And it has to be _one_ of them. Yuuri repeats the thought like a mantra as he folds down the dough for the last time. He’ll make it worth all their time, worth all the disaster of a banquet. He’ll make it worth that amazing breakfast he had that morning with Victor. Hells, he’ll make a new bread every day for the rest of his life to have breakfast with Victor every morning.

It proofs for the final time, Phichit and the rest of his family busy with customers as Yuuri tries to explain what he’s doing as best he can.

“You can’t _touch_ it?” Yurio frowns—or, well, frowns more than usual. “How the hell are you supposed to cook it, then?”

“Well, you can touch it, but barely.” Yuuri gets out a bench knife, searching for the one with the straightest, least-jagged edge he can find. “You don’t want to break any of the, uh, bubbles. It’s supposed to be a very airy bread.”

“Sounds delicious.” Victor steps over from where he and Yurio had been making a mess of batters, much to the amusement of a busy Phichit.

“Hopefully,” Yuuri murmurs, trying to keep his hands moving so that neither of them can tell that his hands shake slightly as he ever so carefully uncovers the dough.

It’s a small batch, just enough for a few loaves really, but that means there’s less room for error, too. He eyes it for a moment longer before carefully cutting it into sections, delicately lifting the airy dough and placing them on a floured sheet for them to rise one last time.

He lets out a breath—and is pretty sure he hears Yurio let out one, too.

Yuuri begins scraping off the leftover dough and flour on the workbench to keep moving. “Did you guys finish that muffin batter?”

“No, Chef,” Yurio grumbles.

Both Yuuri and Victor turn to stare at him.

“Oh shut up.” Yurio stomps off.

“See?” Victor puts a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Even Yurio can respect you.”

Yuuri snorts. “It’s probably just, you know, habit. He works in the palace too, right?”

Victor grins. “I don’t think little Yuri’s called Yakov ‘Chef’ to his face in five years, but what do I know?” He winks, then leaves Yuuri to his work.

Yuuri freezes for a minute, trying to process that. What is it with these two idiots thinking he has anything to teach them, that he has anything that deserves their respect? He’s slowly losing his mind over a tiny batch of ciabatta, of all things. How much food do the two of them produce in the capital on an average day? How many gifts for visiting royalty, for guests, for… whatever they do there. Yuuri knows that their food does more than his ever will, miracles that won’t ever escape the walls of the palace—and Yuuri’s fine with his food never being held to that standard. He’s fine with being an average baker.

He just wants to be good enough to hold Victor’s attention, if only for a little while.

The final rest goes quicker than Yuuri anticipated, leaving his heart hammering at the prospect that they might be a bit over-proofed. Yurio and Victor obviously aren’t bakers, what with Victor’s exploits yesterday and the kinds of seemingly-obvious questions that Yurio asks—though sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between his sarcasm and earnest questions.

He sets them in the oven while Victor chats with Yuuri’s mom and Phichit eggs Yurio on to the point he’s getting red. Not like that’s really hard to do, but Phichit’s smile almost looks maniacally gleeful. It’s honestly a little crowded back here with all these people, more lively than Yuuri thinks he’s ever seen it. He’s sure it could get annoying fast, maneuvering around all the bodies and fighting for space on the workbench and in the ovens, but that doesn’t stop a little bit of warmth from seeping into his chest that has nothing to do with the kitchen’s heat.

He moves over to the sink, washing dishes to keep his hands busy while his mind races.

He wants this so much. He wants Victor so much. A flush creeps up his neck, but his anxiety bites down on it before it can go very far. Because Victor can never be his, not like… Not in any permanent way. Victor can’t stay here forever, and Yuuri wants to stay here and inherit the inn that means so much to his family one day. It’s impossible, but...

He glances over to see Victor laughing while Yuuri’s mom grins. It’s like Victor was a missing puzzle piece in this kitchen, in Yuuri’s life. He brings something new and yet comfortable into the mix of the ordinary. And Yuuri would take him, obnoxious teasing and all.

Victor glances over and meets his eyes, and Yuuri ducks his head, drying his hands on a towel. If only he didn’t have to prove to Victor he was worth his time.

With a deep breath, he walks over to the oven and peeks in. They’re getting close, pale dough just barely starting to get a brush of golden on top.

He stands back up, and nearly jumps when he finds Victor standing behind him.

“It smells amazing.” Victor puts his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder, glancing down at the oven like he can see through the metal to the bread inside.

Yuuri gives a short, nervous laugh, looking a little to the side to try and catch Victor’s expression. “It smells like bread.”

Victor’s eyebrows shoot up. “I would hope so.”

Yuuri actually laughs this time.

“What’re you two up to?” Yurio demands, practically stomping over.

Victor’s arms wrap around Yuuri’s middle. “I’m appreciating the smell of Yuuri’s bread.”

Yuuri’s heart thunders in his chest. Victor has to be able to hear it. The organ’s going to jump right out of his chest one of these days if Victor keeps this up, but he can’t say he’ll regret if that’s the way he goes.

Though he’d appreciate it if Phichit stops smirking from across the room.

“You can’t judge the bread before it’s even out of the oven.” Yurio scoffs.

“Of course not! And you’re the one doing the judging, right Yurio?”

“I told you not to call me that, old man!”

Yuuri stiffens. Can he really impress Yurio? Can _anything_ impress this kid? Was he doomed from the start? How come Victor thought this was a good idea?

Unless Victor wants to leave. He knows that Yuuri is, well, Yuuri, but he’s too nice to outright say it and he’s looking for the easy way out.

But Victor’s arms tighten around Yuuri as he tenses, almost in… comfort? Before he lets go and wilts. “My cruel, cruel Yurio. I only treat you with kindness, and all I get as thanks are insults.”

“Don’t even try to pull that crap.” Yurio jabs a finger at Victor. “You’re as kind as a potato.”

“A… potato?” Yuuri bites his tongue to hold back a snort.

“Yes! A useless, rotten potato, that has a terrible memory never listens to anyone.” Yurio crosses his arms.

“He listens.” Yuuri glances up at Victor. “He’s just bad at asking questions.”

They both stare at him, and Yuuri yet again considers escaping into the ovens. He’s so close, too…

“That’s… I guess it’s true.” Yurio grumbles.

“I’ve never noticed,” Victor murmurs, looking down at Yuuri with something that could almost be called wonder.

“You remembered things I told you yesterday, and you picked up on, uh, things I didn’t like?” Yuuri turns away to hide his flush and grabs some oven mitts—the bread should be done soon.

“His memory is still crap,” Yurio growls with a ferocity that has Yuuri turning back to look at him.

He’s practically baring his teeth at Victor, who stares back at the teen with a tilted head, as if trying to puzzle out something.

Before they can break out into another argument, Yuuri opens the oven.

_There_. The loaves are a perfect golden-brown, coated with a light sprinkling of flour. And they do smell good, though maybe Yuuri isn’t the best judge of that since the scent of baking bread is one of his favorite things.

He pulls them out, and sets them on the work table as all eyes turn to him.

Normally he’d wait until the bread’s cooler to cut, but someone’s already taken and set out a serrated blade.

He grabs it, cutting off the end, and stopping to stare a moment as small glimmering lights escape with the steam. He was thinking about Victor so much he accidentally mimicked the magic that was in Victor’s breakfast this morning.

He glances at him out of the corner of his eye, but the other man just beams.

So he cuts two thick slices of the bread, and holds his breath as Yurio and Victor each take a slice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Wait, what’s a fancy breakfast food.
> 
> Me@Me: You and I both know I was too tired to remember ANYTHING from breakfast shift. WHAT’S THE FIRST DISH YOU CAN THINK OF?
> 
> And that’s why eggs benny exists in this world. (Excuse my messy world building in general in this fic, I’m having too much fun.)
> 
> Makes you wonder how I remember anything from baking shifts where I got up at 2am everyday. Maybe I don’t remember anything. MAYBE IT’S A LIE. Also, random but we used to spray water on our ciabatta before during its baking time to get it to have nice color. #themoreyouknow Yuuri just spent so much time baking in this chapter, I wasn’t going to add that boring tidbit in for Victor and Yurio to be butts about, too. Also turn your baked goods during baking for an even color—real ovens don't have dragons to help out with that, alas.
> 
> Will I bring on the angst, or will everything end well for poor Yuuri? We’ll just have to wait until next week to see~
> 
> Shoutout to my amazing beta, Blue! Catch me over on [Tumblr](http://kazul9.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Kazul9), and bless all the folks leaving kudos and comments! I’ve woken up to kudos in my inbox nearly every day this week, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t tear up ~~a lot~~ a bit.


	7. Chapter Seven

“Oh, it’s glowing,” Victor whispers, taking his slice of bread and bringing it up to his face. “Just like—”

“Um, yeah!” Yuuri cuts him off, glancing at Yurio. It doesn’t seem like saying that the bread is a cheap knock-off of Victor’s magic would make him likely to give the ciabatta a fair chance. If he’s even going to give it that to start off with. “It’s just like… yeah.”

Victor grins as Yuuri turns the same color as a tomato.

Yurio picks up his slice of bread, pinching it between two fingers as he brings it up to his face and scowls at it. “It’s potent.”

Yuuri blinks. “What?”

“The magic.” Yurio narrows his eyes at him. “Most idiots who try to do the glimmering thing can only make it last for a second, unless they know… Doesn’t matter. Could still be crap.”

Yuuri wrings his hands as the both of them take another moment to look at the bread. They turn it over, sniff it, feel it, like it’s a fine wine and not some hunk of flour and salt and water that took a day to make. Like they really know what they’re looking for at all in bread, really.

Though, maybe they do. Yuuri’s admitted to himself that the bakers at the palace have to be more talented than him, creating breathtaking bread to go with the meals that the chefs like Victor and Yurio make for everyone. Maybe Victor can’t bake and Yurio knows nothing other than what Yuuri told him earlier that morning, but you don’t have to know how to _make_ food to know how to _enjoy_ it.

He’s lucky in that the bread doesn’t look over-proofed, the holes reasonably sized, and the two of them at least haven’t knowingly eaten ciabatta before, but maybe he made a mistake in choosing this bread. It’s delicious, in his opinion, but it’s plain bread. He could’ve done something with flavors, maybe added roasted garlic to some sourdough, or even made some brioche. Dammit, why didn’t he think of that when Yurio mentioned croissants? Brioche might even be richer than croissants, and—

As if on some cue, both Victor and Yurio take a bite of the bread.

Everything seems to go still for a moment, even Phichit pausing in whatever he’s sautéing to watch. Yuuri’s heart jumps into his throat, doing its damnedest to choke him before the two can swallow their bites.

“Wow,” Victor breathes, staring at his slice of bread with wide eyes, before turning that look on Yuuri. “Amazing!”

“It’s…” Yurio scowls, chewing more while he thinks. “Good. I guess.”

“Oh come on Yurio, that’s the best piece of bread you’ve ever eaten and you know it.” Victor throws an arm around Yurio’s shoulders as he takes another bite.

“Shut up, old man.” Yurio shrugs him off, putting distance between them while glaring daggers. “Like you would know. The best bread _I’ve_ ever eaten was the pig’s soft pretzel bites, two banquets ago.”

Yuuri gapes. “You ate _those_?” They had been simple yet complex, fun to make. So much fun, apparently, that the stupid things had started floating with the happiness he’d let seep into the dough. They had a hell of a time serving them, and the palace staff had probably chased them around the ceiling for _days_.

Yurio gets redder than even Yuuri was a moment ago, and bares his teeth. “Yeah, so? It was damn good.”

“Aw, you’ve been a fan of his longer than I realized!” Victor coos, slicing another section of bread and handing it to Yurio.

He snatches it from Victor. “I have to watch the competition, that doesn’t make me a _fan_.”

“Oh, so that’s why you brought me some of his bread at the banquet? Because you’re not a fan?” Victor grins.

Yurio looks like he’s about to start hissing and spitting. “Shut up.”

“Um,” Yuuri squeaks, not sure he can survive any more of this. He can’t stop shifting on his feet, aching to know what they think of it now, even if it’s not as great as the bread he made in the past. “So the ciabatta’s… not that good?”

“It’s wonderful, Yuuri.” Victor comes over, wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders.

“But…?” Yuuri glances up at him.

“No buts!” He taps Yuuri on the nose. “Unless Yurio has any buts?”

“That’s _not_ my name.” Yurio shoves the rest of bread in his mouth, crossing his arms.

“Fine, _Yuri_.” Victor’s smile grows. “What do you think? Is he so terrible you’ll have to kidnap me and drag me away from this lovely little inn? Or…?”

Yurio looks up at Yuuri, taking him apart with his eyes. How this kid manages to hold such intensity is beyond Yuuri, it’s something that almost seems impossible for his size and his age. But he doesn’t frown or scowl once he finishes, lips in a straight line. “Fine. It’s good. You win.”

“I… what?” Yuuri’s glad that Victor’s arm is around him, or he might’ve fallen back onto one of the ovens.

“Don’t make me repeat it, pig,” he sneers.

“I _told_ you, Yuuri,” Victor says softly in his ear.

“Told me what?” Yuuri tries to say the words coherently, but he’s pretty sure he’s about to keel over and faint.

Victor beams. “That this would be an excellent way to make up for messing up.”

Yurio snorts. “What’d he do?”

“I still didn’t _like_ it,” Yuuri breathes, everything starting to hit him in a rush. Victor isn’t leaving. Yuuri… _Yuuri_ did this. What he couldn’t do at the banquet, what he’s wanted to do for nearly as long as he can remember.

Okay, maybe he does like it a little, now.

Yurio takes a step forward. “Hey, I asked you—”

“Yuuri!”

Yurio and Yuuri turn toward the flap of a door, finding Mari peeking in.

“No, _my_ Yuuri—though, actually, probably both of you.” She lets out a sigh, waving them over. “You have _another_ guest. This is starting to get ridiculous.”

“Me?” Yuuri glances around. At least, no matter who it is, it can’t get much worse than Yurio. Or so he thinks. Technically, if Yurio’s here without permission, his grandfather could send the entire army after him, and probably put all the blame on Yuuri and his family. Though she said, “guest,” singular…

The fabric rustles next to Mari, and a figure walks in.

“Beka!” Yurio… _smiles_. “What in the hells are you doing here?”

Beka, as Yurio calls him, walks into the kitchen and gives a bow—more of a dip really. He wears a light leather armor, and a sword hangs from his waist. “Pardon the intrusion. I’m Otabek of the king’s guard, and I have business here.”

“I take it Yurio’s grandfather sent you to retrieve him?” Victor lets go of Yuuri, walking over to the newcomer.

Otabek’s eyebrows raise at Yurio’s nickname, but he doesn’t comment on it. “Of course.”

“I’m staying here.” Yurio crosses his arms. “You can’t carry me back.”

“Yuri, come now.” Victor turns back to him. “You don’t want to worry your grandfather—you have a responsibility at the palace.”

“So do _you_.” Yurio jabs a finger at Victor’s chest.

“You could, um, come back sometime, Yurio?” Yuuri chimes in, shrinking only a little when all focus turns toward him. “If your grandfather—uh, I mean, the king approves.”

Yurio scowls, gesturing at the ciabatta. “You’d teach me how to make this crap?”

Yuuri can’t help a small smile flitting onto his face. “Sure.” He seems awfully invested in it, for the bread being “crap.”

“Does this mean I don’t have to carry you back?” Otabek eyes Yurio.

“Just try,” Yurio scoffs, but his lips twitch upward for just a second.

Yuuri has half a mind to ask why the prince and a member of the king’s guard seem so close, but the other half reminds him that it’s not his place to ask those sort of questions.

“Well, it was wonderful of you to visit, Yurio!” Victor hugs Yurio, shoved off nearly as fast as he touches the kid.

“Oh, don’t even,” Yuri growls. “You don’t give a damn now that you’ve found a new shiny thing to chase after.”

Victor’s face falls. “What?”

Yurio studies Victor for a moment. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

A frown spreads across Otabek’s face, Yuuri glancing between them all, and then over at where Phichit’s now at the sink, cleaning a burnt pan—but he can’t catch his eye. Even if Yuuri knows for a fact he has to be eavesdropping.

“I… forgot something?” Victor tries to smile, but it fails partway there.

“You forget _everything_.” Yurio turns away, tearing another piece of the bread off without a knife, starting to rip it into tiny little pieces.

“You promised him that you’d teach him how to cook.” Otabek glances at Yurio, who looks back with a glare that practically screams _traitor_.

“I… Oh, I did, didn’t I?” Victor taps his lip.

Yuuri’s stomach does a little flip, but not because of Victor’s lips this time. He went through all that effort, pushed himself again so soon after the failure of the banquet, just to lose Victor for reasons out of his control. He winces. Of course.

Victor takes a breath. “Well, I could always teach you when you come to visit—”

“I don’t want your pity.” Yurio snaps.

“I…” Yuuri clears his throat. “If you have a promise, Victor, you don’t have to feel, well, obligated to stay.”

“Yuuri, I’m not leaving.” Victor’s eyes lock onto Yuuri’s. “You baked so beautifully to keep me here, didn’t you? Unless you really do want me to go?”

“No, no of course not!” Yuuri waves his hands frantically in front of him, dismissing the idea.

“I don’t want him.” Yurio chucks a piece of bread at Victor, hitting him smack in the temple. “You can keep him and his big forehead.”

“You know I have nothing to teach you that Yakov hasn’t already drilled into us, right?” Victor’s words are gentle, even as Yurio raises another chunk of bread to lob at him.

Yurio hesitates. “I don’t give a damn about that. You said you’d teach me to be the next king, to follow after… You know what, I’m leaving.” He turns toward Yuuri. “Seriously, keep him, I don’t want him.” And then he stomps out.

Otabek gives a quick bow, following him. Mari raises her eyebrows before retreating as well, the bakery suddenly going silent.

“Well, that was exciting.” Phichit stands up straight at the sink, glancing at Yuuri and Victor.

“I’ll say,” Victor murmurs, still staring off after where the others just left.

Yuuri swallows. For just having won, it feels like he lost. It’s almost worse than screwing up all those batches of bread that he made leading up to the banquet. He knew those supplies cost his family, he knew their reputation was on the line, but he still couldn’t win.

Now he did so perfectly. His bread somehow, impossibly impressed Yurio despite his chasing after Victor for something he was fairly owed. And Victor almost seems to be choosing Yuuri again and again, on top of that. But it doesn’t feel fair.

“Victor…” Yuuri pauses, biting his lip. “I don’t want to take you away from something important like teaching him how to cook.”

Victor’s eyes focus on Yuuri, and he gives a soft snort. “Yuuri, he knows perfectly well how to cook.”

“Then why did he come all the way here to get you to teach him?” Yuuri’s hands clench into fists.

“I…” Victor scowls.

“If he needs you, then I can’t keep you here.” Yuuri looks away. “There are… there are more important people than me, and I get that. So don’t worry.”

“Yuuri.” Victor steps closer, but Yuuri still won’t meet his eyes. “What makes you think you’re less important than Yurio?”

Yuuri scoffs. “The fact that he’s a _prince_? That he can cook better than I ever can, to the point he could rule next, if you…”

Gods, Victor was good enough to rule next. And he was here. He shouldn’t be here, in this tiny inn, in this tiny kitchen, and most definitely not be with Yuuri.

Victor’s finger finds its way beneath Yuuri’s chin, tilting it up with minimal resistance.

He’s so close. Yuuri can feel Victor’s breath soft against his skin, see the way his eyes flick across Yuuri’s face in minuscule movements. Yuuri wants to shrink back, get away from him and this whole situation. But he can’t.

“There’s nothing that I can teach him that Yakov can’t and hasn’t already taught him. Or any of the other dozen chefs that specialize in different dishes from across the known globe.” Victor’s voice is soft, gentle. “He’ll be angry for a while, he’s used to getting his way after growing up in luxury. But he won’t stay angry forever. He has more to learn than I could teach him.”

“And there’s nothing for you to learn from someone like me.” The words escape Yuuri faster than he can think about them, but he doesn’t take them back. He’s thought them too often to do so.

Victor frowns. “You’re _you_ Yuuri. That’s what makes you different from every other chef I’ve met and trained under. That’s what gives you something unique over them, to the point that even Yurio wanted to come and train under you. Because you’re you, _I_ want to stay with you.”

Yuuri’s mouth goes dry. He… _what_? No. Is he imaging this? Did he pass out and start having some crazy dreams? Well, if that’s the case, maybe he’s been imagining this whole thing.

But he can still feel Victor’s breath, the warmth of his hand seeping into Yuuri’s chin.

He’s here.

He’s real.

And he said _that_.

“I…” Yuuri gulps, trying to regain his grasp of words, any of them. But Victor gives a small grin and his mind stutters even farther away from coherent thought.

Instead he looks down at Victor’s lips. They’re so close. Inches away. He should pull away. Go the opposite direction. Not ruin what he has with the wonderful man in front of him.

But when he looks back up, Victor’s eyes are hooded and… looking at Yuuri’s lips? No, that can’t be right. He can’t… he _wouldn’t_.

Then again, Yuuri would’ve never thought that Victor would say those things, not in a million years.

A long moment stretches into another, Yuuri frozen, so tempted to lean forward and—

Phichit clears his throat. “If you two are done staring into each others’ eyes—since it’s been a solid two minutes—then I could really use the oven that you two are standing in front of? I wouldn’t have interrupted, but you seemed, well, stalled.”

Yuuri jumps away, gasping in a breath and a flush burning up his throat and consuming his face.

Victor chuckles, and steps back, gesturing for Phichit to use the oven.

Oh, this man isn’t _fair._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought you guys might like to know that I had no plans for Yurio to play a role in this fic beyond a few lines.
> 
> Then this happened.
> 
> Sorry that this chapter is a little bit shorter, I was planning on this being apart of the last chapter but considering these two chapters combined are about 6.5k... *sweats*
> 
> As always, thank you to my wonderful beta, Blue! Please feel free to nag me or scream at me over on [Tumblr](http://kazul9.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Kazul9), and kudos and comments make me want to run around the house screaming in glee (aka keep me writing); thank you to those who leave them. <3


	8. Chapter Eight

Yuuri won’t call Victor a liar to his face, but he’ll whisper it to Phichit whenever he gets the chance. He’s not a bad learner, not nearly what he insisted he was. He doesn’t get everything perfectly the first time, sometimes not even the second, or the third. But he listens, and he implements, and he grows—far faster than Yuuri ever did, that’s for sure. It’s been a week, and he can get nearly everything done that Phichit can baking-wise, and he’s catching up quick to Yuuri.

But… there is something missing from his work.

It’s better than his mom’s baking, and far better than that poor muffin batter that Yurio put together while he was here; Yuuri never knew the simple quick bread could be quite so… explosive. It is the most prone to picking up on the emotions that its baker is funneling into it, he supposes. But Victor’s baking is subtle, almost to a fault. They taste fine, and they’ll have small, artful effects, but not even to what Phichit can do, and nothing like Yuuri’s own work.

Victor sighs, looking over a tray of cookies that are perfectly adequate, but Yuuri knows won’t be good enough for him. “What did I do?”

“They taste pretty good,” Yuuri mumbles around his bite, avoiding Victor’s gaze.

Victor narrows his eyes. “You know what’s wrong.”

“No?” Yuuri squeaks, grabbing a spatula to transfer the cookies from the pan to the rack, even though he should honestly let Victor do that.

Fingers wrap around Yuuri’s, stilling him as he’s about to start.

“Yuuri.” Victor drags out the “ _u”_ of his name so that it’s almost teasing. “What are you avoiding telling me?”

“I, um…” Yuuri sighs. “Do you even like baking?”

Victor blinks. “Like?”

Yuuri takes in a breath, hoping beyond hope he isn’t saying the wrong thing. “Like, um, do you enjoy it? Like you do cooking?”

Victor stares at Yuuri with a crease on his forehead, like he’s trying to decipher a foreign language. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Yuuri gapes. “It has to do with _everything_. There’s nothing else! You don’t have the individuality of the dish in baking like you do with cooking, the only thing that makes it stand out is your magic, your passion, what you’re feeling while baking.”

With a frown, Victor pulls back. “I’ve never had any problem with cooking the same way I’m baking.”

“You… you don’t like cooking?” Yuuri can barely force out the words. It’s impossible. Victor Nikiforov, chef prodigy, master of all dishes, and not really that bad at baking… doesn’t like cooking.

“I… did.”

“Well, that’s not good enough to bake!” Phichit announces, passing by with a sack of onions.

Yuuri scrunches his nose. Well, he’ll be spending the rest of the workday sobbing while Phichit chops. At least he’s almost done with his work.

“Can’t you just push through?” Victor’s frown grows, earnestly confused.

“No.” Yuuri shakes his head. “You can’t _make_ someone enjoy baking. You can taste it.”

Phichit laughs, a little shorter and a little less enthusiastic than usual. “Yeah, if anyone knows that, it’d be you, Yuuri.”

Victor’s eyes focus on Yuuri. “What does he mean?”

The weeks before the banquet flash through Yuuri’s mind once again, his anxiety having wrecked bread after bread, his disappointment tainting the rest—when he wasn’t just earnestly screwing up the ingredients, or getting distracted and not remembering to take out the batches from the oven before they were charcoal. He’s still not ready to admit that horrible failure to Victor. “Phichit used to try and make me enjoy baking when I didn’t feel like it. It happens sometimes, I get very… anxious. And I can’t find anything good in what I’m doing. I have to do it, it’s work, and it’s better to enjoy it, but forcing yourself to feel a certain way makes it worse sometimes.”

“So, you don’t love baking?” Victor slips the spatula from Yuuri’s hand, like he’s the one looking for something to do now.

“I do! But… not every day. Not all the time.” He just does the bare minimum on the hardest days, sticking with simple things so the bitterness of his mood has little chance to bubble over and ruin the dish. “Do you love cooking every day?”

Victor’s expression goes blank. “I couldn’t say.”

Yuuri knows that look. Victor could say, and he could probably say a lot about it. The question of whether he loves cooking or baking hands heavy in the air. But he’s already pushed Victor enough for today. “Did you really not know that baking’s more sensitive?”

“I’ve heard about it.” He jabs the spatula under a cookie with a little more force than probably necessary. “As much as we learn about anything more than the basics of baking as chefs. There are so many cuisines and techniques to learn without adding any baking into the equation.” He turns to smile at Yuuri, the expression only just barely touching his eyes. “My time with you has been truly… _enlightening_.”

Yuuri flushes, even though he doesn’t really know why. “You’re welcome?”

Phichit snickers.

Yuuri walks by and jabs him with his elbow.

“How about you help us out sometimes in the evening?” Phichit rubs his side dramatically. “So you don’t burn yourself out with baking.”

“Oh.” Victor glances up from the cookies with wide eyes. “Does that mean I get to learn how to make katsudon?”

Yuuri laughs. “My mother barely taught me how to make it—Phichit doesn’t even know. Family secret remember?”

Victor pouts, but can’t fight the grin underneath for long. “Well, I’ll happily pick up whatever else she’s willing to teach me.”

Yuuri grins. “Good.”

“You’re welcome!” Phichit sings, beginning to chop.

Yuuri sticks out his tongue, and then gets back to work.

They finish up the rest of the day, Victor a little clingier than usual, hanging off Yuuri like an octopus while asking questions that he _definitely_ knows the answer to. Yuuri might be a little hurt and confused, but sometimes Victor just gets like this. Sometimes he calls him on it, and typically he’ll act hurt and lament how he’s been accused of lying and ask even more ridiculous questions—some of them so absurd Yuuri doesn’t even know the answer—but today Yuuri lets him get away with it. Obviously some sort of nerve was touched, so he can put up with a little dramatics.

What could Victor possibly mean, that he doesn’t like cooking?He could understand if he was about ready to drop baking, it _is_ frustrating some days. But he doesn’t ever mention it. There’s a sharp shard of pain grating in Yuuri’s chest, even though he knows he has no right. A part of it’s from knowing his idol doesn’t care like he thought he did—or at least, that’s what it seems. But how could he have gotten so far, how could his food have been what it was if he’d never cared? Has Yuuri been paying enough attention in recent years to have truly noticed the change, or did his own determination blind him? Though even if he noticed, there wasn’t much he could have done.

And even if he does hate cooking, and doesn’t like baking… then why is he here?

“Is that it?”

Victor’s voice jolts Yuuri from his thoughts.

Yuuri glances around at the kitchen, finding no projects left half-finished, just Phichit and his mom working on prepping a few dishes for the evening. So he nods to Victor.

“Perfect! Shall we go for a walk? The beach, maybe?” Victor offers Yuuri his hand.

Biting down on his smile, Yuuri takes the offered hand, and they shed their chef coats and leave.

It’s a bit of a habit of theirs to spend time together when they aren’t too exhausted from the day. They’ll go try another restaurant, or chat in the dining area of Yu-topia, or go for a walk just like this.

But Yuuri can’t shake the day’s conversation from his thoughts, his mind circling around Victor’s words between their sparse conversations. He needs to know, but how does he ask?

“You’re very… determined to learn how to bake, even if you don’t like it that much,” Yuuri comments, glancing up at Victor. “I mean, not that it’s a bad thing. It’s just, uh, surprising?”

Victor chuckles. “The only reason that I’m the chef that I am is because I spent more hours training than anyone else. Yakov used to have to come and kick me out of the kitchen.” He looks away, watching the waves roll in as his steps slow a little. “I’ll be honest, I was a bit of a disappointment to my parents, when they were alive.”

“What?” Yuuri gapes. That can’t be true. He was always the darling child of the whole country, beautiful and talented and…

“I’ve always had potent magic, but I had less talent for getting recipes right. At first I didn’t really care, I just wanted to be with my family. And then…” Victor stops walking.

And then his mother and father went on a diplomatic voyage to one of the neighboring countries, and their ship sank. Everyone mourned their loss. Yuuri remembers the sight of a younger Victor in complete black as the memorial parade slowly walked by, long hair braided back.

The next time Yuuri saw him at the banquet, his long hair had been cut off.

“Then I had a bit of a legacy to hold up. And once I figured out _how_ to use my magic, I was determined to master it, no matter the time it took. I enjoyed it, for a while.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Yuuri’s fingers hesitate only a moment before he reaches out and takes his hand. “I… I’m sorry.”

The tension in Victor’s face softens. “Don’t be. I don’t regret that determination and dedication. Though sometimes I wonder, if I haven’t…” he shakes his head. “But now I’m here baking with you. And that’s good, isn’t it?”

Yuuri nods, a small grin spreading across his face. “Even if you are a terrible baker.”

Victor places his free hand over his chest, giving a dramatic gasp. “You wound me, Yuuri!”

With a snort, Yuuri swings their hands a bit. “You’re improving a lot, though.”

Victor’s eyebrows raise. “Really?”

Yuuri grins. “Are you fishing for compliments again?”

“Always! From you at least.” Victor leans in a little closer. “I didn’t know how hard my Chef would be to please.”

Yuuri half-opens his mouth to respond with a taunt, but his thoughts and words die away as he catches the intensity in Victor’s eyes. Yuuri definitely knows what would please him right now, but would it please Victor? They’re so close together, something that Yuuri hardly notices anymore, but he notices it now. And it isn’t close enough.

Heart stuttering in his chest, Yuuri leans in a little closer, watching Victor’s eyes track the movement. Yuuri turns his gaze to Victor’s lips, close, _so close_.

Like he wants it.

Which, maybe…

Yuuri moves even closer, and—

Victor sneezes, knocking his forehead against Yuuri’s. _Hard_.

They both stumble back.

“Sorry!” Yuuri squeaks, rubbing his forehead. “I’m so sorry!”

Victor laughs. “Why are you apologizing? I sneezed.”

“I, um…” How does one apologize for almost kissing someone when they didn’t even get that far? Maybe Victor didn’t pick up on it? Though how could he _not_? Unless he’s ignoring it on purpose. “Sorry,” Yuuri mutters again.

Victor risks slightly. “You didn’t do anything, I…” He shakes his head, then offers his arm.

Yuuri takes it, cool relief trickling through him. At least he didn’t scare him away entirely. “We should head back, maybe you’re catching a cold.”

Victor hums. “I do feel a little tired.”

They walk back, comfortable in small conversation.

But they don’t bring up what they were so close to doing.

A small knot forms in Yuuri’s stomach. Nothing’s changed, and that’s good. That’s how it should be. He wouldn’t trade what he has with Victor for the world, for however long or short their time together might last.

Yet at the same time… They were so _close_. Yuuri could almost cross that gap that he only ever did in his imagination. But he didn’t. The moment’s past. And yet he wants it now more than ever before.

They get back and Yuuri’s mom corners Victor to talk about him helping out with meals while they eat dinner, Phichit having passed on the information instantly. Nothing happens in this place without Phichit and therefore the rest of Yuuri’s family knowing. Victor’s going to join Yuuri later in the morning—something that Victor agrees to, but Yuuri highly doubts will actually happen considering how early Victor rises in the morning, oftentimes greeting Yuuri with food that is far too good to be properly appreciated in the early hour—and then they part and go to bed.

Yuuri pauses in his small, sparse room, watching the dust motes float around in the dim light filtering through his window. How in all the heavens and all the hells did Victor offer to stay _here_ , with him, in this room, when he first arrived? It wasn’t something his mind dared dredge up again, not with everything else going on. It was just teasing, anyway—he had more than enough evidence that Victor liked to rile him up.

But _why_?

Yuuri’s fingers wander up, pressing gently against his lips. “Why” always seems to be the question with Victor. And he’ll answer when Yuuri asks his “why”s most of the time, but Yuuri still doesn’t understand. It never makes sense, always too teasing and flattering.

Unless he actually means it.

Yuuri shakes his head, casting aside the thoughts. No, no way. He can’t let his childhood obsession ruin what he has with Victor. There’s no way that he’d be interested in Yuuri like that. He values Victor too much to push for anything else. And what they have really isn’t bad, anyway.

Even if he can’t stop wondering _what if_ as he tosses and turns that night.

Eventually, dawn’s first light rouses him from a half-sleep and leads him groggily down the stairs and into the kitchen. He moves the curtain—and pauses.

Victor’s not up. Not in the entire time he’s been here was he ever up after Yuuri. Then again, it hasn’t even been a month. It’s odd how it almost feels like it’s been longer. Every once in a while Yuuri will catch sight of Victor and wonder how he’s here, but more often than not he blends into the new normalcy that he’s made for himself at Yu-topia.

Well, if Victor sleeps in too long, Yuuri will wake him up. With a sigh, he makes himself a cup of tea, then pauses midway through slicing off a piece of toast. Victor is right, now that he’s been spoiled with a proper breakfast for a few days, a couple pieces of toast isn’t enough. But is it actually worth the effort, this early in the morning?

Better question: what _is_ worth the effort this early in the morning?

He finishes making and eating his pathetic breakfast, going through the usual motions of preparing the inn for business. It’s so quiet. Was it always this quiet? He hums to himself while he works, trying to fill the quiet. The dragons even chirp in whenever he opens the ovens, leaving him smiling for a while. But then it gets too quiet again, and he keeps at it.

Come to think of it, other than to sleep, Victor and Yuuri haven’t spent this long apart in the past week. Yuuri scowls at himself. This is sad. Pathetic. He’s lived his whole life since he was a young teenager like this, he doesn’t _need_ —

“Good morning!” Phichit chirps and he strides into the kitchen, grabbing an apron and tying it on.

“G’morning.” Yuuri squints at Phichit, shoving the tray of scones into the oven. “What time is it?”

“I dunno, probably around eight?” Phichit pauses. “Why?”

Yuuri glances at the curtain. “Victor hasn’t been down.”

Phichit frowns. “Doesn’t he normally get up before you?”

“Yeah…” Yuuri glances down at the oven, brushing his hands on his apron. “Could you—?”

“Your scones won’t be done in the two minutes it’ll take you to run upstairs, but I’ll watch them.” Phichit rolls his eyes. “Unless… you were going to get up to something else while you were—?”

“No, nope!” Yuuri bolts around Phichit and out of the kitchen. “Don’t even!”

The sound of Phichit cackling follows Yuuri as he bows slightly to the staring customers, then takes the stairs two at a time up to the rooms. Victor’s been in the same room since he got here, somehow fitting all his stuff in the tiny room… There.

Yuuri knocks.

No answer.

A frown creeps across Yuuri’s face. Maybe he’s a solid sleeper? Or, maybe… Maybe after yesterday’s incident, he decided to leave.

Yuuri’s stomach drops from his body.

But Victor acted normal after that. He wouldn’t have just left, not without telling anyone. He _couldn’t_ have.

Taking a deep breath, Yuuri knocks again. “Victor? I’m, uh, coming in.” He tries the handle, finding it unlocked. He can’t decide if the fluttering under his skin is from relief or anticipation.

The room’s dark, the only light being what filters in around thick drawings—much thicker than Yuuri’s. How on earth does Victor get himself up normally in the morning? Unless, maybe he doesn’t typically close his curtains in the evening, and that’s why he’s slept so long.

The rest of the room is a crowded series of shadows, more full than any other room in his family’s inn that Yuuri’s ever been in. But he knows generally where the bed should be, and eventually his eyes adjust to make out enough to see the rectangle of a mattress, and a bundled, human-shaped mess of blankets on top of it.

“Victor?” Yuuri takes a step inside, pausing again as he gets closer to the form on the bed. “Victor, are you all right?”

The figure on the bed doesn’t so much as move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *points up at the now numbered and not “?” chapter count*
> 
> *wiggles eyebrows suggestively*
> 
> Anyhow, I write mostly YA for my original work—you didn’t think they were going to kiss that easy, did you? ;)
> 
> Shoutout to my wonderful beta Blue! And if you want to come and scream at me for being terrible, feel free to hit me up on [Tumblr](http://kazul9.tumblr.com/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Kazul9), or screech at me here! I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t have made it so far in writing without the lovely people leaving comments. <3
> 
> (P.S. If anyone’s actually worried, remember I tagged this as _light_ angst, tbh it's to the point that it's nearly nonexistent outside of Yuuri's anxieties. I gave you a hint to what’s next earlier in the chapter!)


	9. Chapter Nine

Yuuri rushes forward to the bed, hands fumbling around in the blankets until he finds Victor’s shoulder, rolling him so he’s face-up.

For a terrible moment, nothing happens. Yuuri places his shaking hands on Victor’s chest, and lets out an even shakier breath when he feels Victor breathing. But then, what…?

“Yuuri?” Victor finally speaks, voice a groggy squeak. “Yuuri, it’s so very cold in here.”

Yuuri’s brow furrows. It’s cooler than the kitchens, for sure, but it’s hardly cold. He reaches out and touches Victor’s forehead, then lets out a soft hiss. “Victor, I think you’re running a fever.”

Victor hums. “M’cold.”

Oh no, he’s sick. Was that what that sneeze was yesterday? Was that _everything_ that yesterday was? Yuuri shakes his head. This won’t do any good, now’s not the time to even consider that. It’s not going to get any answers from Victor even if he wants to in his current condition, anyway. “I’ll be right back, okay Victor?”

Victor mumbles something, and Yuuri jumps to his feet, bounds down the stairs, and scurries into the kitchen. Phichit looks at him, but Yuuri doesn’t pause, instead running straight over to the ovens. He opens the first one, re-discovering and saving the scones he kinda forgot about, then finds the second one free. He reaches in and holds out an arm for one of the small dragons to inspect.

The creature deems him worthy of attention, and wraps itself around Yuuri’s arm. He yanks back out of the oven, shaking the dragon off his one arm and into the cradle of the other, playing hot potato for a moment until it’s cool enough to touch without risk of blisters.

“Um, Yuuri?” Phichit raises an eyebrow as Yuuri makes to bolt back outside the kitchen. “Everything okay?”

“Victor’s cold!” Yuuri announces, only realizing once he gets back upstairs that what he said makes absolutely no sense without context. Well, that’s fine. It’s probably not the weirdest thing he’s ever said to Phichit.

He walks back into the dark room, nearly stumbling over his own feet in the dark, but somehow making it over to Victor’s side. “Here, Victor. This is warm.” He gently sets the dragon on Victor’s chest, where it curls up and nuzzles into his nightshirt.

“Ooooh, so wonderful!” Victor looks up at Yuuri, a movement he barely catches in the dim light. “You’re wonderful.”

“Um!” Yuuri stands back up. “Are you hungry?”

“Starved.” Victor’s eyes don’t leave him. “Something… warm?”

Yuuri almost snorts, but bites it back. “Of course, Victor. I’ll go cook you something?”

“Yuuri, cooking _me_ something?” Victor snuffles, clutching the dragon to his chest in awkward movements. “He’s so wonderful, isn’t he?” Victor murmurs to the drake, like it’s his confidant.

Yuuri’s face is instantly hot, and he turns for the door. “I’ll be right back!”

Phichit starts laughing the instant Yuuri comes back down into the kitchen again. “What did he do to you?”

“He didn’t _do_ anything.” Yuuri scowls as he gets a pot and gathers some ingredients. “He’s sick, and he said… Well, he’s feverish. I’m making him soup.”

“Uh-huh, that’s why your face is the same color as a beet. Sure.” Phichit snickers.

Yuuri pointedly ignores him, until he starts actually being helpful by pointing out where some ingredients and items are, throwing a couple of tips at Yuuri. Which, honestly, he can use. If Victor could screw up the simplest bread recipe that Yuuri has, it stands to reason that Yuuri could somehow mess up soup—the most basic of basics. Even if he has made it before. Victor had the luxury of a large kitchen to keep cooking and baking separate, only having to focus on one. Here everything melds and jobs aren’t so clean-cut. Though Yuuri’s been baking nearly exclusively for a while now. Maybe he shouldn’t be cooking for Victor, what if his magic somehow makes his illness worse—

No, he said he’s going to make something for Victor, and he’s going to. It doesn’t have to be the cure to anything, it just has to be enough to sustain him so he can fight off whatever’s gotten into his system.

“Victor’s not feeling well?” Yuuri’s father asks as he walks into the kitchen, apron over his head and around his waist for once. He loves to cook, but he typically helps take care of the business side of things and the customers with Mari.

“Yeah, he didn’t even get up this morning,” Yuuri says, not turning away from his pot. He will _not_ burn this soup.

His father whistles.

“Yuuri’s making him soup.” Phichit nods across the workbench.

Yuuri scowls.

His father smiles. “Oh, it’s been so long since you cooked. Can I taste?” He asks, even as he grabs a spoon.

Yuuri doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t stop his father as he takes a taste. He knows that no one would taste without his permission, but it still feels wrong to tell his father _no_.

“Oh, it’s so lovely!” His father smiles up at him. “A little heavy on the garlic, but that will be perfect for your man.”

Yuuri splutters. “He isn’t—he’s not _mine_ , dad.”

“So you say!” Phichit sings across the room.

Yuuri has half a mind to chuck his stirring spoon at him, but restrains himself.

The kitchen picks up after that, and Yuuri has to mind his baked goods on and off while the vegetables of the soup grow tender, but the moment they are, he laddles out a bowl and carefully carries it up the stairs.

Someone drew the curtains in Victor’s room—one of Yuuri’s parents probably, if his father knew about how sick Victor is—so at least he doesn’t stumble while he makes it to the bed. “Victor? Are you still awake?”

Victor’s still clinging to the dragon, the creature curled up loosely with tiny little talons flexing happily in the cloth beneath it. “Yuuri?”

“Here, let’s get you sat up.” Yuuri sets down the bowl and plucks the dragon away, swearing that it glares at him. Victor needs a little help in propping the pillows and moving to sit up, and then Yuuri deposits the dragon back into Victor’s lap, both the creature and the man giving a content sigh.

Yuuri bites back a laugh, holding out the bowl. “Here.”

Victor takes it, and Yuuri holds his breath as he takes a tentative spoonful, counting the seconds while Victor blows on it. Then he finally puts the spoon in his mouth, looking up at Yuuri with wide eyes.

“Yuuri, it’s _beautiful_.” Victor looks up at Yuuri with tears in his eyes, gasping when he meets his eyes. “ _You’re_ beautiful.”

“Um, maybe you should rest?” Yuuri twists his hands in his apron. “You should definitely rest. And there’s more soup downstairs, in case you get hungry. If you really like it?”

“I _love_ it.” He meets Yuuri’s gaze with a seriousness that makes this conversation feel like it’s about more than just soup.

Regular Victor was bad enough, but Yuuri stands no chance of survival against sick Victor who seems to somehow have _less_ reservations about ridiculous flirting. “I’m happy its, um, good?”

“More than good. The best. You’re the best.” Victor grabs at his arm. “Stay with me?”

Yuuri stares down at where Victor’s hand weakly grasps his coat sleeve, knowing he could break the grip easily and not wanting to at all. “Um. I have bread in the oven…”

“Oh.” Victor’s eyes get watery again as he lets his hand drop. “That’s fine. I guess that makes sense.”

“They… it should be done soon, though. And that’s the last thing I have to bake. So I could come back?” Even if that means Yuuri might die well before his time. He just can’t resist. Victor obviously doesn’t want to be alone, and he _is_ here for Yuuri after all… It’s the least he can do for someone under his responsibility.

Victor perks up, practically glowing. “Please. Pretty, pretty please.” He sniffs, triggering a massive sneeze.

Yuuri reaches out, settling on patting Victor’s arm in a motion that couldn’t possibly be more awkward. “Okay then, I’ll come back. But first I need to take care of my sourdough.”

Victor sucks in a breath, eyes wide. “Could _I_ eat some?”

Yuuri bites his cheek against the laugh building up his throat. “Yeah, sure.”

Victor gives him the dopiest smile, finally turning back to his soup, giving Yuuri his escape.

“Oh no, what did he do this time?” Phichit asks like it’s some terrible question, but his grin is huge.

“Shut up.” Yuuri grumbles, glancing around the kitchen to try and remember everything he has left to do.

“You two are both ridiculous.” Phichit shakes his head, then blessedly focuses on his work.

Yuuri finishes up work quickly, running up to find Victor dramatically slumped against his pillows, murmuring nonsense to the dragon that he’s clutching again.

“Yuuri!” Victor croaks, trying to sit up. “You came back for me.”

“I, uh, yeah?” Yuuri stares at him for a second.“You kinda asked me to.”

“You’re so beautiful.” Victor breathes, eyes widening.

“Um, here!” Yuuri shoves a small roll of sourdough at him, still warm from the oven. “For you.”

Victor doesn’t seem do be listening though, mouth popping open in a small “o” as he stares at the bread in Yuuri’s hands. “For _me_?”

Yuuri takes a second to stare at him. Victor’s sicker than he’d thought. “Yeah. You asked me to bring you some.”

Again though, Victor seems more focused on the bread than on what Yuuri’s saying. “Yuuri Katsuki. Bringing bread to me, _his_ bread, of all people’s. What did I ever do to get so lucky?”

“Well you showed up and became my apprentice?” Yuuri supplies, kneeling down next to Victor. Maybe they should call a doctor, though he just seems to be feverish. “And then you got sick.”

A small smile creeps across Victor’s face as he lovingly eyes the roll in his hands, the dragon’s head perking up at the smell. “I’m Yuuri’s apprentice,” he croons to the roll, petting it.

Yuuri can’t help but grin. At least ridiculousness is the tolerable kind.

“Oh.” Victor’s face falls. “But how long can I stay?”

Yuuri freezes. “What do you mean?”

“I’m such a terrible baker. He hates me. He’ll kick me out.” Victor takes a bite of the bread, and Yuuri’s never seen anyone manage to chew so sadly.

“Victor, I could never hate you, and I won’t kick you out.” Yuuri hesitates, then reaches out to touch Victor’s free hand. “You can stay here as long as you like.”

“Can I stay here _forever_?” Victor stares up at him with wide eyes.

Yuuri bites his lip. “If that’s what you want?”

“Yes!” Victor surges forward, throwing the dragon from his lap, and lunging off the bed.

Yuuri only barely manages to catch him, surprised at how light he is for someone that takes up such a large part of his life and his mind. Victor’s arms curl around his shoulders, and then he nuzzles his face into Yuuri’s neck while he continues muttering nonsense.

With a deep breath, Yuuri helps him back into the bed, plucking Victor’s arms off of him easier than he wanted it to be.

“S’hot now,” Victor mutters as he flops back down, frowning at the blankets and the dragon curled in them.

Yuuri reaches out for the drake. “I’ll take this little one back downstairs then.”

“Don’t go.” Victor’s voice is so small, so pathetic.

“But you have to rest, Victor.” Yuuri hesitates as the dragon curls around his arm.

“I don’t wanna.” He frowns.

Yuuri laughs a little. “You have to, if you want to get better. Then you can rest as much or as little as you like, all right? I’ll come back up to check on you in a little while.”

Victor perks up a little at that. “Promise?”

“I promise.” Yuuri gives him a nod, grabbing his empty soup bowl from earlier, and taking it and the dragon back downstairs.

After depositing them both where they belong, Yuuri’s mom corners him and begins questioning him about Victor like he’s her second son. Which, at this point, he probably is. Just like Phichit’s like his brother, Victor belongs in his life just as much now. Though a little different than Phichit.

They decide against a doctor just yet, though they’ll call one if he isn’t any better by tomorrow.

“Well, at least Victor’s got two mother hens looking out for him,” Phichit teases as he walks by them.

“Well, someone has to look out for the poor boy.” Yuuri’s mother frowns.

“What do you mean?” Yuuri blinks down at his mom.

“He told me about his life at the palace. He has a few people he might call friends, but he lives on his own. Though I suppose he said his chef is a bit like a father to him, but it’s not like he spends any time with him outside of the kitchen.” She sighs. “He sounded so lonely. At least he isn’t, anymore.”

And she heads off, over to the ovens.

Yuuri stays still for a moment longer. Victor had mentioned not doing much outside of cooking, like Yuuri. But he’d never put that together with not having anyone else around him. He was familiar with Yurio, but he was just a teenager, and really just a coworker. Yuuri could call Phichit a coworker, but it was different when he was one of four people in a single inn, as opposed to the dozens that worked in the palace kitchens.

Maybe he shouldn’t just leave him up there, all alone.

Something yanks Yuuri back, wrapping around his neck. He reaches up, nearly keeling backwards as he tries to yank whatever it is off.

“Yuuri, what am I learning today?” An unmistakable voice practically hums into Yuuri’s ear.

Yuuri sighs, trying to ignore Phichit’s laughing. “Victor, aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

“I would _never_ miss work.” Victor sounds absolutely horrified.

Yuuri scowls. “Well, I’m your Chef, and I’m ordering you to rest for today.”

Victor gasps. “But I can’t!”

“Yes, you can.” Yuuri finally manages to escape Victor’s clutches, twisting away before taking Victor’s elbow. “C’mon, let’s get you back to bed.”

Victor clings to him as Yuuri leads him back upstairs, and he hesitates to leave. Victor really should rest, though…

So he leaves. And Victor follows again.

And again.

And again.

By the fifth time, Yuuri’s too emotionally worn down to consider attempting another escape. Victor clings to his arm as he flops onto his bed, dragging Yuuri down to sit on the floor next to him.

“If I stay, will you rest?” Yuuri reaches out with his free hand to brush Victor’s bangs from his forehead.

Victor’s eyes flutter shut at the touch. “Mm-hmm.”

“Then I’ll stay.”

Victor clutches his arm a little tighter. “Thank you.”

A lump grows in Yuuri’s throat. Victor shouldn’t be thanking him, not for this. It’s too simple, something so easy. “Anytime,” is all Yuuri manages back.

Victor’s smile comes, brief and small, before his breathing starts to even out. His grip doesn’t lax, though, Yuuri’s arm is at an such odd angle that he’s sure it’ll go numb at some point. But he doesn’t pull away, instead shifting so that he’s somewhat comfortable and his head is resting on the bed, giving him a view of Victor’s peaceful face.

Though he knows he has a really good chance of getting sick after this whole debacle, Yuuri can’t bring himself to care too much right this second. Who knows if Victor will even remember this tomorrow in his fevered haze, but he’s sick, and he needs it, and it’s something that Yuuri can give to him. He’d give Victor anything he asked for, whatever he has to give, if he only asked. It’s something easy to think, a throwaway promise that might be easy to break. But staring at Victor right here and now, grinning a little at the small whistle he makes when he breathes through his stuffed nose, Yuuri knows it’s something that will remain true to him far past this moment.

No one deserves to be as alone as his mother was describing. Even Yuuri enjoys his solitary time and his privacy, but he knows he has a family to take care of him and keep him company when he’s up for it. If Victor was in the palace right now, would he truly have been alone? He wouldn’t have had anyone to make him some soup, no one to bring up a dragon while he was feeling cold—if they even allowed the latter. No wonder he was clinging to Yuuri like this.

Yuuri can’t imagine what he would be like without his family. He doesn’t want to.

He lets out a breath, reaching up to feel Victor’s forehead. Warm, but maybe not as bad as this morning, even with all of the running around like a lost puppy after Yuuri.

Yuuri grins a little, letting his hand fall. How ridiculous. With nothing better to do after a morning filled with worrying and then an early afternoon hauling Victor repeatedly up the same staircase, Yuuri lets his eyes fall shut, only planning on indulging Victor a little longer.

Instead, he jolts awake in darkness, trying to figure out why he’s sitting up and sore, and why there’s something warm clutching his hand.

He relaxes a little as his groggy mind catches up with the events of today—or maybe yesterday now. There’s faint moonlight streaming in through the window, illuminating the room in stark shadows. Victor’s no longer clinging to his arm, but their hands are entwined, fingers laced together.

Yuuri stares at the sight probably for a little longer than he should, knowing he should pull away his hand and go back to his room, knowing he needs to lie down properly so that he’s not in pain all of tomorrow—today? Instead, he reaches out with his free hand to feel Victor’s forehead. Still warm, but even better than earlier that day.

Victor’s eyes flutter open. “Yuuri?”

“I, um, yeah. Hi,” Yuuri murmurs, pulling his hand back. “How are you feeling?”

“I… oh.” Victor’s brow furrows. “Oh dear. I caused you a lot of trouble yesterday, didn’t I?”

“No, it’s fine.” Yuuri’s not sure he should admit that he kind of enjoyed it. “I’m surprised you remember.”

“Oh, I do.” Victor’s eyes search his. “You made me soup.”

Yuuri hesitates, then nods. “Of course I did, you’re sick.”

Victor’s eyes wander. “I think that’s the first time anyone’s made something just for me.”

Something in Yuuri’s chest cracks, just enough to feel it. Here Victor was making him breakfast nearly every morning, and he hadn’t made anything for Victor. Maybe before he would’ve said he wasn’t good enough, but Victor doesn’t deserve to be the only one making things for others. After all, Yuuri would serve him the world up on a platter if he only asked.

“I could warm you up some of the leftovers if you want. Or make you something else?” Yuuri flushes a bit, knowing that it won’t be that good, but not having much else to offer.

Victor’s gaze turns back to Yuuri, smiling softly. “I don’t think I’m up for it now, but thank you. You should probably get to sleep now that I’m, um. Slightly more sane.”

Yuuri laughs softly. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. Even if you were saying some weird things.”

Victor frowns a little. “Well, I don’t think I said anything that was a lie, at least.”

Yuuri’s mind quite unhelpfully draws up the image of a wide-eyed Victor calling him beautiful, and he’s extremely happy that Victor probably can’t see him flush deeper in the dim light. “Maybe you’re still more feverish than I thought.”

Victor laughs a little, sniffing slightly. “Mmm, no, I don’t think so. Just tired.”

Yuuri stands up, and slowly, reluctantly, lets go of Victor’s hand. “Then I’ll let you sleep. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Yuuri. Thank you.” Victor draws his hand back in, pulling up his sheets.

“Of course, Victor.” He murmurs as he slips out the door, before he can reach down for Victor again, practically running for his room.

And as he lays down to go to sleep in a position that will be much, much better for his back, he swears he can still feel the residual heat of Victor’s hand in his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyhow, WHO’S UP FOR SOME SICKFIC??? Blue (my lovely beta) wanted some sick fic, and I needed some boy bonding, so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Is this sickness even remotely realistic? No. Do I care? Absolutely not. It’s a magic sickness~
> 
> Only three more chapters after this. Are you guys emotionally prepared? ~~I’m not.~~
> 
> As always, thank you so, so much for everyone who leaves comments and kudos! You guys are the whole reason why this fic will actually end up finished and not abandoned in the recesses of my laptop.  <3 Feel free to poke me on [Tumblr]() or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Kazul9)!


	10. Chapter Ten

Though it takes a few more days for Victor to recover completely from his illness, he thankfully doesn’t insist on constantly coming down to the kitchen to cling to Yuuri, nor does he say anything more ridiculous than usual.

Yuuri cooks for him every day, though.

His mother tries to help out, but Yuuri stubbornly stands by this. He explains his dedication to the task away with how Victor’s been making him breakfast, and this is him paying Victor back, but it’s… more. Yuuri isn’t sure what it is, but he wants to take care of Victor.

Yuuri spends more time chatting with Victor in his room while he eats, too. He probably should be running away again, getting more work done, not getting so attached. But then he thinks about Victor all alone up here—albeit, normally cuddling with and cooing to a dragon—and he can’t force himself to leave.

They chat about Victor growing up, the trouble he’d cause for Chef Yakov and the rumors that he’s the reason why the Chef lost his hair. Yuuri tells Victor about how frustrating cooking was for him before his dad sat him down and taught him the precise art of baking. It’s then that Victor apologizes, that Yuuri’s been making him food for days and it has to be driving him crazy.

But Yuuri simply shakes his head. It isn’t as frustrating as it could be—after all, it gives him an excuse to come up here and sit next to Victor’s bed.

It’s intimate in a way that has Yuuri internally screaming, but he doesn’t say anything aloud about it. If Victor notices, if it’s not all in Yuuri’s head, he doesn’t say a thing about it either. Sharing the quiet parts of the morning and afternoon are different than the time they’d spend together after work. It feels different than the time he’d spend with Mari and Phichit—though Victor’s always been different. Everyone and every relationship is different, of course, but this seems altogether strange and foreign and wonderful in a way he's never felt before. Maybe this is all in Yuuri’s head, too.

Well, even if it is, he won't argue. He hasn’t felt so happy in… he doesn’t even know how long.

A fear lurks beneath the bubbling of warmth in Yuuri’s chest, but he won’t look at it look it head-on, despite how often it whispers into his ear, _how long_? How long does he have Victor for, how long will he remember his time at this inn, how long until he gets bored with Yuuri. He tells himself it doesn’t matter. That he’ll take what he can get. That maybe, no matter when it ends, it doesn’t mean they can’t visit each other or something. Anything.

So even though it takes him twice as long to get up and moving this morning, even though he had terrible nightmares that he can’t remember other than the emptiness that remained after, Yuuri smiles at Victor when he comes back down to the kitchen the first morning he feels ready to—well, the soonest he’s felt ready and they’ve allowed him to. Yuuri and his mom quarantined Victor a little longer than strictly necessary, mostly for his sake, but also the guests’.

“Good morning,” Yuuri chirps, finishing up cover up the batch of dough he’d been working on. “Would you like some breakfast? I’ll cook whatever you like.”

“Well,” Victor scratches the back of his neck for a second, before seeming to catch himself and drop it back down. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll cook?”

“Oh.” His cooking really is that terrible, isn’t it? He should have let his mom taken over cooking for Victor after that first day, he has to be so sick of Yuuri’s food.

“It’s nothing bad!” The words leave Victor’s mouth in a rush, having caught Yuuri’s face falling. “I just… feel rusty, after having spent so much time in bed. And besides, it’s the least I can do to repay you for everything you’ve done.”

“Oh,” Yuuri repeats. He supposes that makes sense. Honestly, knowing Victor, it wouldn’t be a surprise to learn he normally pushes through sickness to cook. Yuuri might worry about getting rusty too, if he didn’t have his mom to quarantine him every time he got sick. Or time off at all. “Sure, yeah. That’s fine.”

Victor gives him a small smile, and it wedges itself between Yuuri’s ribs. It isn’t the smile he’s been seeing the past few days. It’s the one that Victor hides behind, when he’s not feeling happy but he feels he has to smile. The smile he hides behind.

With a shaking breath, Yuuri goes on to pop some turnovers in the oven. Victor stays simple, sticking with omelettes for today, but Yuuri’s not going to complain. He doesn’t say much of anything besides thank you. The food’s jaw-dropping amazing, as always from Victor, but something tastes… different? It’s more mellow, in a way. Yuuri has half a mind to ask Victor, and almost does before remembering that smile and staying quiet.

Victor doesn’t say much, either.

Did something change between now and yesterday? Yuuri wracks his brain, but nothing other than the fact that Victor’s up and about is different. Maybe he’s just tired, still. Worn out before he really even sleeps.

“Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” Yuuri asks as they take their dishes to the sink.

Victor starts. “Of course.” And… he gives Yuuri another smile that doesn’t even brush his eyes.

Yuuri looks away. He’s lying, even if it’s just about feeling ill. And after so long of only seeing his earnest smiles, if only because he’d been sick, it jabs into Yuuri’s chest and twists into his heart.

“Don’t do that. Please.” Yuuri murmurs.

Victor freezes. “What do you mean?”

“You’re using your fake smile, and you’re brushing everything off. If you don’t feel up to working today, that’s fine, but don’t…” Yuuri winces. Who’s he to ask Victor this? He just… he _cares_. He doesn’t want Victor to hide. People are messy by nature, and Yuuri _wants_ to see Victor messy and imperfect and someone… someone that Yuuri could feel like he deserved to be around. But that doesn’t mean the feeling’s mutual. “N-never mind. Sorry. Forget I said anything.”

“Yuuri.” Victor’s hand wraps around Yuuri’s wrist, but he shakes it off.

Not right now, he can’t handle the contact. He can’t even meet Victor’s eyes. Yuuri takes a deep breath. “What did you want to work on today? Or would you rather work with Phichit, and just stick with regular cooking today?”

It’s quiet for a long moment, and for the first time awhile, Yuuri’s thinking about crawling into the ovens with the dragons again.

“No.”

Yuuri glances up at Victor, cringing a bit when he meets a harsh gaze back. “No?”

“I think… maybe you’re right. I think I need a little more rest.” He nods his head to acknowledge Yuuri, and then Victor just… leaves.

Yuuri spends a long minute staring after him. What just happened? Did he touch a nerve? Should he… should Yuuri go after him? No, if he _did_ say something to offend him, it wouldn’t be a good idea to chase after. And if he is tired, he’ll need the rest. Though he didn’t look tired…

Shaking his head, Yuuri wrings trembling hands on a towel before getting back to work. He’s not sure how much time passes before Phichit comes down to the kitchen, but when he does he pauses once he sees Yuuri.

“No Victor?” Phichit frowns, looking around. “I thought you guys were letting him back in here today.”

“Um, well.” Yuuri rubs flour from his hands onto his apron. “He came down earlier and made breakfast. But he went back up because he said that he wasn’t, um, feeling well.”

“That’s all?” Phichit’s eyebrows raise.

“Mostly?” Yuuri curls in on himself a little, away from the question. “He was kinda doing his fake pretending to be happy smiles and I might’ve called him out on it a little?”

“Oh Yuuri.” Phichit sighs. “And have you checked on him since?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “No. He said that he was going to go and rest, and I figured if he was actually tired he should, you know, rest.”

Phichit puts his hands on his hips. “And when has that stopped you before?”

“What?” Yuuri blinks at him.

“This whole time he’s been sick, you’ve spent more time up in his room than you have down here. If he wasn’t so obviously ill, I’d have called you out on it a long time ago.” Phichit sighs, rolling his eyes. “I’ve sat on the sidelines long enough. Get up to that room.”

“ _What_?” Yuuri takes a step back.

“He should honestly be expecting you, at this point.” Phichit waves to the exit of the kitchen. “Actually, you know what? He probably is. And what if he actually needs something? Like, you know, your _soup_.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Yuuri snorts. “What’s that supposed to be a metaphor for?”

“No changing the subject!” Phichit grabs his arm, dragging him forward. “Go, and work out whatever it is so you can get back to being happy Yuuri.”

Yuuri stumbles over his feet as Phichit throws him out of the kitchen. Was it that obvious?

For a moment he considers turning around and marching back into the kitchen, knowing that Phichit can only throw him out so many times before he gives up—hells, he was the first one to suggest that they just let Victor stay down here when he was having his feverish wanderings.

But if Yuuri said something that offended Victor, he should apologize. He might’ve crossed a line that was never meant to be crossed, thought that their relationship was something it wasn’t. He was Victor’s teacher after all, maybe getting so personal was a mistake.

With a nod, Yuuri climbs up the stairs before he can think about it again, the trickle of panic screaming that he’s making a mistake only catching up to him as he knocks haltingly on Victor’s door.

“Come in,” Victor’s voice is muffled, but at least he’s there.

A chill crawls up Yuuri’s spine. What if Victor _wasn’t_ here? Well, at least he hadn’t thought to worry about that. He lets himself in, finding the curtains only half-drawn, the room in a sort of twilight.

“Close the door.”

Victor sits on the bed, looking at the floor.

For a second Yuuri considers turning tail and just walking away from the situation, like he had that first day that Victor showed up. But wasn’t he just hoping that they were beyond this? With hesitating fingers, he shuts them off from the rest of the inn.

“I don’t think I can keep this up anymore, Yuuri.”

Yuuri pauses, hand still on the shut door. Keep up… what? Baking? Pretending Yuuri’s anything worth his time? “What?” His voice is so quiet, it’s a wonder if Victor can hear it.

Victor takes a breath, shaking his head. “Yuuri, do you want me here as your apprentice?”

“I—what?” Yuuri takes a couple steps into the room, wishing he could do more than just repeat himself today. “Of course!”

“Why?” He finally looks up at Yuuri, brow furrowed and frown spread across his face. It’s so misplaced on his face, normally smiling whether it’s his real emotions or fake.

Well, at least Yuuri got what he asked for.Even if he’s not sure he wants it anymore. “I…” What can he say? What _should_ he say? Though he supposes, if Victor’s being honest with him… “Because having you around is… it’s nice.”

“Just nice?” He gives a crooked grin, though maybe it’s more of a grimace.

“It’s… a lot more than nice.” Yuuri looks down at his hands.

“Really? Because sometimes it seems as if you don’t want me here.”

Yuuri glances up, opening his mouth to protest, then snapping it shut. Well, he was the one who ran when Victor first showed up. “You have to know, after all this, that it’s not like that. Not anymore. I just… I get nervous. And I still don’t really understand why you’re here in the first place.”

Victor huffs out a laugh. “Of all people, you should know best.”

“But I don’t,” Yuuri whispers.

For a second, they just stare at each other. The truth is out there, and Victor can do whatever he wants with it. He can throw it back at Yuuri, confirm his worst fears and leave him and the inn and everything they may or may not have built. Or…

Victor reaches out, patting the bed next to him. “Why don’t you sit down?”

Well, better than getting kicked out. Yuuri scurries over and perches on the edge of the bed, a couple of feet away from Victor. It’s farther than they’ve been in days, but as it is, it almost feels too close.

Victor takes a breath. “You remember the banquet, don’t you?”

Yuuri winces, the gaping hole in his memory laughing at him. “Mostly I just remember being embarrassed.”

“What?” Victor looks at Yuuri. “Why?”

“I screwed up everything.” Yuuri shifts on the bed, wishing he didn’t have to admit to it. “I was supposed to… it was going to be my year. It was only Phichit and me preparing, and we were going to showcase my bread, but…”

“You got nervous?” Victor supplies.

“Yeah. So all I had was my sourdough, and it wasn’t even my best batch at that.”

Victor laughs softly. “Well, it was enough to impress me.”

“That was _really_ what caught your attention?” Yuuri frowns. It seems too much of a stretch.

“Well, hmm.” Victor places his finger on his lip. “I suppose that isn’t the first I’d heard of you. Yuri had been talking about you for years. I mostly ignored him, assuming that he was just looking for a new target to destroy, but he only ever said _good_ things about you underneath all the hissing and spitting. And his talk of baking made me try my hand at it this year—which ended in disaster, obviously. So I asked him to bring me some of your bread that night, since I wouldn’t get away until later, probably after your bread was gone considering how terribly bad mine was. And…”

Victor takes a shaking breath. “You were _so passionate_. It bled into your work, I didn’t even have to see you to admire you, but then I did and… Anyway, when I bit into your bread, I realized what I was missing. What I’d _been_ missing. If I ever had it to begin with. It’s all become so bland in my head, to the point where it’s hard to hold onto memories. I truly didn’t remember that promise I made to Yurio, but it’s different now. I don’t think I could ever forget my time here, what you’ve shared with me. I don’t remember ever loving anything so much, I—”

He cuts himself off, finally turning toward Yuuri.

And all Yuuri can do is gape. Victor’s bread that he could distinctly remember tasting, but not _when_ was from this year? That would explain why he couldn’t recall something that should be burned into his memory, like the rest of Victor’s dishes.

But even more unbelievable was that somehow he actually did impress Victor with his pathetic sourdough. No, he impressed both Victor _and_ Yurio. For years, even? Seven gods and seven hells, no wonder Victor was so confident that Yuuri could win over little Yurio. And Yurio’s ‘pathetic’ makes much more sense in that context too—it _was_ pathetic even compared to other years. He’d already succeeded in catching the royal chefs’ attention before he failed to make the bread for this year. But he had hooked the wrong one.

Though in a way, it did bring him into Victor’s gaze. It brought Victor into his life, and into his family’s inn, and if he’s being honest, into his heart in a way he never could be at a distance.

“I just can’t keep being the shining prince everyone expects me to be anymore, Yuuri.” Victor turns away, looking at his hands. “You’ve seen more of me than I ever meant to show you in the past few days, more than anyone else has _ever_ seen. And I know I’m not as… impressive as people think I am. I can cook well because I’ve been stubborn all my life and I inherited the magic from my parents. So I understand if you’d like me to go.”

If his mouth was hanging open before, Yuuri’s jaw is on the floor now. “Victor, no. No, don’t think that. I’ve always… admired you. From afar. I wanted this past banquet to be special to impress _you_ , but I didn’t understand then that who I saw at the banquet was so much more _behind_ that food.” After only a half-second of hesitation, he reaches out his hand to take one of Victor’s. “I was upset this morning because now I care more about the you I got to know over the past few days than that facade you put on for everyone else. If anything, I’d prefer it if that went away entirely. Victor, I… I’d like it if you never left, honestly.”

Yuuri snaps his mouth shut before he can say anything else horribly embarrassing, give Victor any reason to hide again.

But he doesn’t pull away, even if he doesn’t say anything. His eyes search Yuuri’s shining as if he’s holding back tears.

Yuuri gives a tentative smile, squeezing Victor’s hand. He was right, he really did get what he wanted. He got more than he ever could have imagined or dreamed of. Some part of him says he should probably pinch himself to make sure he’s not dreaming, but if it’s a dream he’s okay with never waking up.

With slow movements, Victor lifts his free hand and reaches toward Yuuri. His fingers slide gently across Yuuri’s cheek, and he leans into the contact, his heart beating so loud that Victor has to feel it beneath his skin. Victor’s eyes flick down to Yuuri’s lips, and he can’t help licking them at the attention. Victor’s eyelids are hooded as he leans in a little, then glances at Yuuri with a question in his brow.

As an answer, Yuuri leans in closer, his eyes fluttering shut—

Banging shakes the door, making them jump apart.

“Victor, it’s urgent!”

Yuuri doesn’t recognize the voice at the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought you were finally gonna get the banquet reveal, didn’t you? ;) Only two more chapters to gooooo~
> 
> Blue is a bit overwhelmed and couldn’t beta this week, so any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone! If you want to throw tomatoes at me, hit me up in the comments, or heckle me on Tumblr or Twitter! Your comments and kudos mean the world to me, so thank you to everyone who leaves them. *grovels*


	11. Chapter Eleven

“Chris?” Victor jumps up immediately, racing to the door and leaving Yuuri reeling.

Seven gods and seven hells, they almost kissed. They almost kissed, and Victor looked like he wanted it. Said things that made it nearly impossible for Yuuri to think otherwise, though of course doubts kept slipping in.

But who’s Chris?

Victor opens the door, and a tall man walks in, dressed in silks and finery that obviously means he’s from the palace, with short blonde hair and green eyes that take in the room, stopping on Yuuri.

“Ah, Yuuri!” The man Victor called Chris smiles, well maybe more smirks. “How nice to see you again.”

Yuuri blinks. He’s never seen this man before. Or… has he? Those eyes are maybe a tad bit familiar, scratching at something in the back of his head.

“Chris, why are you here?” Victor’s voice is a higher pitch than usual, frowning at the man.

“No one’s dead.” Chris raises his hands, then cocks his head. “Yet.”

“ _Chris_ ,” Victor snaps.

And Yuuri doesn’t blame him, he’s half-tempted to shake the man, and he doesn’t even know him. Or, not that he remembers.

“Our dear Yuri—the one at the palace, not this one—fell off a horse while riding, and his injuries were more severe than we expected.”

The blood rushes from Yuuri’s face down to his feet, leaving him happy that he’s sitting or else he’d be on the floor. He takes in a gulp of air. “Is he… He’s expected to recover, right?”

Chris glances toward Yuuri before he places a hand on Victor’s shoulder, steadying his slight swaying. “He’s young and the injuries could have been worse, I don’t think they’ll have any long-term consequences once they heal. But I figured you would want to know.”

Victor nods slightly, acknowledging the last part was addressed to him. “I-I have to go back.”

“Of course, he’s your… Well, he’s your pain in the ass, more than anyone else’s.” Chris gives Victor’s shoulder a squeeze. “You can take my horse.”

Victor’s eyes finally seem to focus, and he stares at Chris. “But you love that horse.”

“I do, she’s one of the fastest in the stables. That’s why I made sure to bring her, for you.” Chris grins.

Victor’s eyes shine with unshed tears, and he hugs Chris. “Thank you.”

“What are friends for, no?” Chris pats his back. “I’m just happy you were getting out for once, I hate to be the one to drag you back. Especially when I seem to be… interrupting something.”

Victor suddenly lets go of Chris, turning back around and walking across the room, back to the bed. He kneels in front of where Yuuri sits, taking his hands. “I have to go.”

Yuuri nods, an awkward bobbing. “Yes, yes of course. I-I’m worried about Yurio, too.”

A small smile blooms on Victor’s face. “You could come?”

“No.” His chest aches, but he returns Victor’s smile gently. “With my apprentice running off, I’ve gotta make sure I’m here for the inn.”

“Apprentice, hmm?” Chris’s eyebrows raise.

Yuuri goes bright red faster than he would’ve thought possible, though he should really be used to it with Victor around at this point.

“But you can come and visit?” Victor presses, squeezing his hands. “If it takes a while for…”

Yuuri bites his lip, his mind whirring in attempt to wrap itself around the situation. Fiery Yuri, stuck in a bed, maybe not even conscious, covered in bandages while everyone waits anxiously for him to recover. Swallowing down the choking thoughts, Yuuri nods. “If I can, I will.”

Victor grins, not as vibrant as usual, but still a real smile that touches his eyes. He hesitates, eyes once again flicking down to Yuuri’s lips, but with a slight, small shake of the head he rises, and leaves.

As the door closes softly behind him, the soft noise echoes loud within Yuuri’s chest. And something in Yuuri’s chest snaps like a twig, an emptiness growing between his ribs.

Chris whistles. “I knew he had it bad, but this is something else entirely, isn’t it?”

The heat in Yuuri’s cheeks burn with a vengeance, and he shrugs the comment off. “Do you want something to eat before you go? I know it’s a trip here, and you’re welcome to use one of our horses for the ride back.”

“So polite!” Chris almost seems surprised, which doesn’t make sense considering he has to know that Yuuri works at this inn. He’s said he knew Yuuri somehow, after all… “That sounds like a wonderful offer, I’ll take you up on it.”

They make their way downstairs and Yuuri heads off into the kitchen, going slow while Yuuri finds his legs again. That was too much in too little time, too many sorts of emotions vying for his attention. He wants to be happy, bask in the residual warmth of what just happened between him and Victor, but how can he while there’s something wrong with Yurio? Would it not have happened if Yuuri had forced Victor to go back to the palace after it came out that Victor had broken his promise to Yurio?

No, it had been Victor’s choice to stay. He had all the opportunities to go back, even Yuuri had tried to convince him. Somehow he believed that Yuuri was worth his time, and kept insisting on that despite everything. Maybe because of everything? Yuuri still can’t believe it, if he’s being honest, but maybe telling himself it enough might make it true.

Much more believable, however, is knowing that even if Victor was at the palace, Yurio probably would’ve gotten into trouble anyway. Maybe he had been perfectly reasonable when whatever happened had gone wrong, he seemed to have the occasional moment of calm, but…

“Oh, this looks delicious!” Chris exclaims as Yuuri sets down a bowl in front of him. “Aren’t you joining in?”

“No, I’m not really hungry.” Not when his gut is churning, knotting into a bundle of worry.

“Well, why don’t you take a seat anyway, unless you’re terribly busy. We should catch up.” He winks at Yuuri.

Yuuri stiffens, but takes a seat. He might as well take this moment to own up to his ignorance, before it gets too late and too awkward. “Um, I’m really sorry, but… I don’t remember meeting you before today.”

Chris drops his bite of food before he makes it to his mouth. “What?”

“I’m sorry, I just… Have no idea?” Yuuri ridges with the sleeve of his chef coat, glancing back toward the kitchen. “It’s not you, I’m sure. I sometimes get very nervous, and it’s hard to focus. I just probably wasn’t paying attention.”

“Oh no, you were paying attention all right,” Chris deadpans, calling Yuuri’s attention back to him. “Though… How much of the banquet do you remember?”

For the second time in the past hour, Yuuri thinks he might pass out. “Um… I got upset and started drinking, and I don’t remember anything after I had a few glasses?”

“The last thing you remember is drinking?” Chris’s nose wrinkles. “Well, I was thinking you might’ve had quite a bit, but this… Oh, this changes everything.”

Yuuri grips the edge of the table so hard that the edges dig into his palm. “What did I do?”

“What _didn’t_ you do would be a better question.” Chris winks.

Yuuri tries to remember to wheeze in breaths.

“Hey, It’s not that bad.” Chris reaches out a hand toward him.

Yuuri yanks away. “Just tell me. Please.”

“Well, mostly you danced. With everyone. Where did you _learn_ to dance like that?”

Yuuri moans, leaning forward and placing his forehead on the table. “My aunt, she taught me some when I was little… Oh no.”

“Oh _yes_. You’re very talented. I’d suggest you missed your calling, but I’ve had your bread before.” Chris takes another bite of his dish. “No one blamed Victor for being enthralled.”

So Phichit was right, he _had_ seen Yuuri dancing with Victor at the banquet. Seven gods and seven hells, he can’t even imagine what he told Victor. Was that why Victor had shown up? No, that makes no sense. He just danced with him—and apparently everyone else, too. How is he supposed to show his face next year? Or ever again? He needs to apologize to Victor the moment that he sees him again. If he hadn’t left for such a serious reason, Yuuri might run after him right now in hopes he’ll forgive him for making an ass of himself.

But… it could be worse? He can think of a few things his father’s done while drunk he’d rather not like to recreate. “So, you know me because I danced with you?”

“And oh, what a dance it was. I was surprised to see how, well, _loose_ you were after your conversation with Victor.” Chris grins, eyes losing focus.

Yuuri realized that he’d never actually _seriously_ considered jumping in the ovens until this very minute. “What did I say to him?”

“Hmm, I didn’t catch most of it. You two talked for a few minutes before he brought you over to his food, and he gave you what he made—that questionable bread and terrine. And oh, did you let him know it was terrible.” Chris laughs.

Yuuri looks up, hands cold and beginning to go numb where his knuckles are white against the table. Maybe the shock will just kill him, stop his heart so could keel over and not have to even think about this. “I _what_?”

“Oh, you didn’t tell him anything that wasn’t true.” Chris waves his hand. “Just told him every single thing that was wrong with his bread. It was quite a list, and with the people nodding along with you, you were hardly the only one to reach that conclusion—though it wasn’t the _worst_ bread anyone had ever tasted, maybe that was a bit dramatic of you to say. Just bland, and boring. Anyway, you completely dumbstruck him to the point he couldn’t so much as argue. So after you got that off your chest, told him that if he ever wanted to learn how to make a decent loaf of bread you’d make him learn, even if it was the last thing you did.”

Yuuri gapes. So that’s why Victor came. Because Yuuri _insulted_ his bread, and told him that he could teach the chef to do better, and then had him baking too-salty bread. What made him even want to see Yuuri again? What was he expecting when he came here?

How can he ever show his face to Victor again?

“Well, after that Victor offered to dance with you, which you took as a challenge. And then, of course, the other Yuri couldn’t resist facing off with you afterward, and from there many people wanted to dance with the star of the party. I’ve never been to a banquet so exciting in my life.” Chris sighs, as if it’s a fond memory.

Of course it would be entertaining to other people, seeing a drunk and bumbling Yuuri stumbling around and dancing with and _insulting_ royal cooks. How could he have had the audacity to insult Victor? After everything he’d failed earlier that same week? He can’t exactly remember eating Victor’s bread, even if he’d somehow had some remnant of the taste of it before, but it probably wasn’t nearly as bad as his burnt black pâte à choux.

Tears prick at his eyes. Was Victor just teasing him?

Well, that doesn’t make much sense if he thinks about, but what _was_ Victor thinking? How long was he really planning on staying, for the man who drunkenly assaulted him at the banquet?

“Hey, don’t worry too much about it. It all worked out in the end.” Chris smiles.

Did it? What else did he promise to Victor, what on earth did he say? Chris said they talked for a couple of minutes before Victor gave him some of his food. Maybe he was expecting and waiting for whatever drunk Yuuri had promised him.

But Yuuri _doesn’t remember_.

He tries to smile at Chris, but it’s belated and broken on his face. “I’m, um, going back to the kitchens. I’ll make sure you have a horse.” And he runs. He makes his way back to the kitchen before the tears break free and start spilling down his face.

“Yuuri! Yuuri, what’s wrong?”

There are suddenly voices and hands and faces, but all Yuuri can do is shake his head.

He’s so _stupid_.

Everything he thought he had with Victor is built on top of some forgotten conversation that he would take back if he could. And what does that mean? Where does that leave him?

 

* * *

 

 

Eventually Yuuri’s mom coaxes him to tell her what’s going on, but he leaves out a lot of the details. Well, mostly just that Yurio’s hurt, and absolutely nothing about the banquet.

But, naturally, Phichit picks the full story out of him later. He only holds out for hours after Chris leaves, the man wearing a creased brow and a frown as he takes in upset Yuuri is, no matter how poorly he tries to keep his emotions hidden. It’s luckily not enough to keep Chris there any longer than it takes to get a horse ready, concerned for Yurio as much as anyone else and wanting to head back.

It’s later that night that Yuuri confesses the details of his drunken assault of Victor, wracking his brain again and again for any hint of memories. He can’t decide if forgetting is better or worse than remembering.

“But Yuuri, he still came to see you afterward,” Phichit attempts to soothe.

Yuuri shakes his head. “Maybe he did, but I _insulted_ him. I don’t… I don’t know how he could want to be around me after that. I don’t want to be around me after that.”

Phichit sighs. “Fine. I suppose we’ll just have to ask him about it once he comes back.”

Yuuri nods, knowing he’ll have to face it eventually. That he could go and confront the situation now, but just the thought of approaching the palace makes his head spin and stomach churn.

So he waits. One day turns into two, two into three. And more beyond that. At first it’s easy to comfort himself that it’s nothing, that of course Victor’s going to spend time making sure Yurio’s all right—Yuuri’s even concerned about the kid. But then enough time passes that they would know if Yurio was worsening to the point the whole country would be concerned, that Victor should be coming back. But there’s nothing.

Something tight and thorny grows in Yuuri’s chest, making it hard to breathe at times. Maybe he finally scared Victor away. Yeah, he’d almost kissed him, but…

He could go and visit Victor, he said that Yuuri could. So he has every excuse to. But confronting him means confronting the fact that the banquet _actually happened_ and the fact that he’s insulted Victor and his cooking.

And the thing in his chest gets tighter and sharper.

So Yuuri does the only thing he knows how to do while he’s stressed—he bakes. Luckily there’s still a lot of traffic to the inn since the rumors of Victor and Yurio being there spread far and wide. And it really had gotten normal to find Victor there every morning, and every afternoon, and all the spaces between. The kitchen feels… quiet. Stranger now than it ever was having him burst into the inn and find his place there. Like it was an eternity ago before Victor showed up at his doorstep, asking for Yuuri to teach him.

Since, apparently, Yuuri insulted him into thinking his baking was so awful he had to resort to coming to Yuuri to learn.

“Okay, _how_ many muffins are there in here?” Phichit puts his hands on his hips, looking at the workbench full off all sorts of varieties of muffins. “And why are they all glowing like the palace?”

“Um, dunno?” Yuuri shrugs while taking a muffin pan from the oven—quite a juggling act. Though he thinks he can guess why the muffins look like that, at least. He was thinking about that morning when Yurio was there, when Victor made him his first breakfast and Yuuri had made that loaf of bread especially for him. And Yurio too, technically.

“You absolutely do know.” Phichit sighs, taking a tray of the muffins and finagling room for himself on the workbench.

Yuuri squirms beneath his skin, avoiding any and all eye contact.

“Why don’t you just go and see him?” Mari takes a tray from Phichit to take out front.

Phichit mouths, “Thank you,” whether for her making the suggestion instead of him for once, or helping clear out the abundance of muffins, who knows.

“I don’t… I couldn’t.” Yuuri shakes his head.

They both sigh.

“Didn’t he tell you that it was fine to show up? Didn’t he _encourage_ it?” Mari raises an eyebrow.

Yuuri shrinks back. “Yeah? But that was two weeks and two days ago.”

“Not that he’s keeping track or anything,” Phichit mutters.

“I’m not! And he’s probably changed his mind, since…” Since he hasn’t heard a thing from him. Since if something fatal or permanent or anything that would take two weeks to make sure he was okay had happened to Yurio, he’s sure that the gossip would have reached them by then.

So he was definitely avoiding Yuuri. Unless something fatal or permanent or anything that would take two weeks to recover from had happened to Victor? But again, Phichit would’ve definitely heard that gossip. Yuuri wouldn’t be surprised if Phichit knows more than he’s telling Yuuri about what’s going on at the palace, and he’s not sure whether he should feel more terrified or grateful if he keeps it to himself.

“You don’t know that.” Mari narrows her eyes at him.

“Yeah, he might’ve gotten held up. He was a part of those kitchens for, like, his whole life.” Phichit looks up at him from his organization of the muffins.

“He could’ve written me or something,” Yuuri grumbles, putting the freshly baked muffins down.

“ _You_ could’ve written _him._ Didn’t the whole Yurio fiasco show you how great his memory is?” Phichit frowns at him.

“Well, I mean…” Yuuri frowns. He might’ve forgotten some things, but would he have forgotten everything? If he did, maybe he can relate to Yurio a bit—it might not be worth reminding him. Though Yuuri knows there was more to that than simple forgetfulness…

“Then you should go and say hi. Nothing wrong with saying hello to a friend, right?” Phichit reasons.

Yuuri’s frown grows into a grimace. Was that the label he fell into with Victor, “friend?” Not that there’s anything wrong with it, he’s honored to call Phichit his friend, even Mari’s his friend. But he’s never, you know, almost-kissed them.

“Yuuri.” Mari’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. “If I have to kick you out of this kitchen to get you out of your own head, I will.”

“I’m not—”

Mari huffs. “You’ve barely left since Victor ran off to the palace. We have more baked goods than we know what to do with, and you’re obviously thinking about him. Oh, don’t deny it. I see these muffins. And you know that muffins are the most sensitive to their baker’s emotions.”

Heat crawls up Yuuri’s cheeks, and he’s all the more aware of it after how long it’s been since he blushed. Without Victor there to tease him constantly…

What _if_ something happened to Victor? After all, there’s a reason why he hasn’t come back. There has to be. Maybe Yuuri did scare him off, but… when has Victor ever said anything bad about Yuuri throughout the entire time he was here? He wasn’t planning on leaving when he had Yuuri bake that loaf of bread to keep him there, he believed in him. He kept believing in him, and even opened up to him, trusted Yuuri.

And it’s a shame that Yuuri hasn’t believed in Victor, too.

“One more batch of muffins.” Yuuri stands up a little taller, clenching his fists.

Phichit moans.

Mari rolls her eyes, “You can’t put it off.”

“No.” Yuuri shakes his head. “But it would be rude to show up at the palace without a token of my appreciation, wouldn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so most of you probably had already guessed what happened at the banquet, but now Yuuri has to deal with his emotions! Yay! (?!?)
> 
> Only one more chapter left. ;)
> 
> Shoutout to the amazing Blue for being better at English-ing than me! And catch me on [Tumblr](http://kazul9.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Kazul9) if you'd like to poke me elsewhere. Comments and kudos give me LIFE, thank you to everyone who leaves them. <3 (Also, this story's only a one kudo away from 200, what even??? You guys are the absolute best.)


	12. Chapter Twelve

On second thought, maybe he should’ve chosen to show up at the palace with something more impressive than _muffins_.

It’s the first time Yuuri’s ever seen the palace up close in the daylight and somehow, impossibly, it’s even more impressive. He can’t make out the balls of light with the sun out, instead the magic seems to make the walls glow, like it isn’t made out of wood and bark, but some mythical, angelic material that no human should ever step into.

Except Yuuri came here to step inside, with a sad box of muffins in his arms.

Not even cupcakes, which at least had frosting, but muffins. This is worse than choosing ciabatta. This is worse than showing up to the banquet with just sourdough. This is worse than the banquet all in all.

“Yuuri?”

He jumps, nearly chucking the box of muffins at the gates of the palace—where a man now stands. Well, a teenager. One that Yuuri’s seen before.

“Otabek?” Yuuri squints slightly through the frames of his glasses, hoping he remembered right.

He nods. “Are you here to see Victor?”

“Um, yes? If that’s okay? Please?” He shifts on his feet, itching to just turn around and walk home for the hundredth time. After this, there will be no turning back. Assuming Otabek doesn’t just tell him to head home and not bother coming back.

Oh hells, what if he is turned away? What if Victor doesn’t want to see him, or they don’t allow peasants in the palace or—

Otabek’s mouth twitches into what almost could be considered a smile. “Of course. You don’t even need to ask, Victor told the whole guard personally to let you in if we saw you.”

“Personally?” Yuuri manages to squeak.

“Personally.” Otabek dips his head. “He talked to every last one of us. Even brought a portrait.”

“A… _what_?”

“It wasn’t particularly well made.” Otabeks’ lips twitch again, more noticeable this time. “It’s a lucky thing that it was me who spotted you, I think the only part anyone was really able to identify was that you had glasses. But he did try very hard.”

“ _He_ drew it?” Yuuri doesn’t know if he should squash down the warmth softening the knot in his chest and instead be insulted, but he can’t be. His mind whirls to find a way to be afraid of the bad portrait, write off the horrible illustration skills that Victor has on him obviously not wanting to see Yuuri again, but that is just so very not Victor-like. He can see Victor so pleased with himself, too. Maybe Yurio ripped it up into tiny bits. Hopefully not, since Yuuri would really like to see this infamous drawing.

At least he knows not to expect Victor to do well with cake decorating, if they get to it.

“I would hope it was him, and not any artist the palace has in employment. I imagine they would be insulted if they saw it.” Otabek’s voice is so steady and unwavering, Yuuri can’t tell if that should be a joke. “But that’s beside the point. I’ll take you to the chef’s wing.” And he turns and starts walking away.

Yuuri scrambles after him, clutching the box of muffins as well as he can without crushing them.

They make their way through a pair of giant double doors, Otabek nodding at the guards there as they pass, then smirking as they catch sight of Yuuri.

How bad _is_ this portrait? Maybe he takes it all back, maybe he will be insulted. He scurries after Otabek, for a while just keeping his eyes plastered on Otabek’s back and focusing on the brutal pace, but he can’t stop his gaze from wandering for long. It’s just as beautiful here as it is in the banquet room. Polished wood gleams and glows in the sunlight filtering through many windows. There are paintings, huge and small and all sizes between, of all different things and places, so many of which Yuuri has never seen. There are tapestries, pottery, sculptures, so many different things you’d think they’d clash, but instead they’re just beautiful, building off of each other into the next marvel. Cooking may be what his country is proudest of, but the other arts are hardly forgotten, and this is obviously a testament to the talent that has and does exist in the people here.

Which makes Yuuri rather small and insignificant, clutching his small box of muffins.

Luckily the walk isn’t too long, though Yuuri probably couldn’t find his way back out if he tried. They end up walking into a room with a fine, if a little worn carpet, a fireplace set into one wall, and couches and chairs set around it.

And on one of those couches, a head of blonde hair bobs up, green eyes piercing Yuuri through.

Somehow Yuuri had forgotten how terrifying this kid could be.

“About time!” Yurio jabs a finger at Yuuri. “What took you so long?”

“Hello to you too, Yurio?” Yuuri gives a weak smile, consciously reminding himself not to crush the damned muffins. Though, if he crushes them, then he doesn’t have to show them to anyone…

“Don’t call me that!” Yurio huffs, though he sinks down onto the couch without a growl or a glare. “I’ve had enough of it from _him_. Speaking of, does he know yet?”

Otabek shakes his head. “I’ll get him now.”

And then he leaves Yuuri to fend for himself.

There’s a moment of quiet, then Yuuri takes a few steps forward and into the room.

“How’ve you been? We’ve been wondering when you might—Oh, your leg!” Yuuri moves over quickly, eyes glued to the cast over Yurio’s leg.

“It’s _fine._ ” Yurio huffs. “They just won’t let me take the damned thing off.”

“Is this what happened? Two weeks ago?” Two weeks and two days ago doesn’t sound long enough for an obviously broken leg to heal, but Yuuri doesn’t say as much out loud.

Yurio still glares at him, though. “Yeah, I guess. It was dumb.”

Yuuri takes a shaky breath. “I’m happy that you’re okay.”

“Uh, thanks.” Yurio stares at him, face blank.

Yuuri smiles. “We weren’t sure what to think, with Victor running off like that, and then not hearing from him for so long…”

And the scowl comes back, like it never left Yurio’s face. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I finally got free from the old man, and now he won’t _leave_.”

“Does he… Is he staying?” Yuuri’s fingers twitch, wanting to play with the sleeve of his chef jacket. He shouldn’t expect anything else, anything more. If he wanted to come back, he would’ve. Yuuri won’t drag him back if he wants to stay, so he needs to know.

“Please, take the idiot! All he does is mope around, he obviously doesn’t want to be here.” Yurio huffs, crossing his arms.

Yuuri’s brow furrows. Then, if he has no reason _not_ to come back, if it’s obvious that Yurio’s going to be fine and he’s free to return to the inn, why _hasn’t_ Victor come back?

Maybe he wants to go somewhere else, anywhere else. Maybe Yuuri made a mistake in coming here.

But why was he _moping_?

“Yuuri?”

Spinning around so fast he nearly tips over, Yuuri whirls around to face Victor. He’s in a chef coat, somehow even _nicer_ than the ones that he had been wearing at Yu-topia, deep maroon with no wrinkles and a fabric that looks so very soft and stainable. His eyes are wide, small bags under them, but there’s a small smile across his face and Yuuri can’t help but echo it.

“Victor,” he breathes the name like a sigh.

“Ugh, go get a room you two.” Yuri groans, flopping back on the couch.

Yuuri’s cheeks go pink as he glances back at the teenager, but he isn’t grimacing or gagging, just frowning and determinedly looking anywhere but at him or Victor.

“Oh, yes, this way.” Victor gestures, and then takes a step forward—before pausing. “Um, assuming you would like to talk?”

The question is so honest, Victor frozen mid-motion, that Yuuri would almost imagine him an entirely different man than the one who barreled into the inn that day ages ago and demanded to be his apprentice. Then again, he supposes Victor asked his permission in the end that day, too.

Giving a quick nod, Yuuri starts across the room, following Victor once he turns and leads him down another hall. This one is shorter, smaller, and decorated much less grandly, but it’s still so much finer than the inn. Victor opens one of the doors set into the wall, and lets Yuuri in.

It’s a sitting room, much more barren than the one they were just in, only one other door leading off of this one. There are a couple of pictures on the wall, and a few pieces of furniture so bright and clean they hardly look used.

“I’m sorry, if I’d known you were coming, I would have gotten tea or something ready, but, um…”

Yuuri turns around and finds Victor scratching at the back of his head, looking around like he’s taking the room in as freshly as Yuuri is.

Victor gives another small, tentative smile. “Well, I wasn’t sure you’d be coming at all.”

Honestly, Yuuri’s still unsure whether he should have come in the first place—no. No, that’s definitely a lie. That tightness that he’d felt in his chest since Victor left, growing after he learned what he’d done at the banquet, and as the days grew and grew and grew… Well, no matter that his anxiety might be buzzing in his veins, that lump and its thorns are gone. He can’t regret coming to see Victor again, no matter how it ends. “Of course I came.”

There’s a second of silence, and then Victor’s grin grows into something wider, that touches his eyes in a way the small ones couldn’t. He steps into the room after Yuuri, closing the door and gesturing for Yuuri to sit.

He perches on the edge of a loveseat, Victor only a couple of feet away in a chair.

The quiet grows heavier and heavier as Yuuri tries to pick his words, Victor’s eyes searching him is not helping. “Um, why didn’t you come back? I was worried about Yurio, but…” He gestures toward where he came from — and almost drops the box of muffins that he nearly forgot about _again_.

Victor clasps his hands, finally looking away as he leans back. “I was fully planning to, once we were sure that Yurio would be fine. If it were anyone else, I would’ve stayed a little longer, but you know him.” He glances up quickly, letting out an exasperated sigh before looking away again.

A grin twitches onto Yuuri’s lips despite himself. Yurio probably didn’t want to have Victor around in the first place, he can imagine that if it were up to him, Victor would never have known. Even though he said he was alone here, it’s a small comfort to know that Victor wasn’t completely isolated, though he can understand that feeling to a point.

“Well, I met up with Christophe again the day after in the kitchens, to catch up and see what I missed, and…” A flush of pink rises softly on Victor’s cheeks. “He told me you didn’t remember anything from the banquet. Please understand, I would never have been so… Well if I’d _known…_ ” He clears his throat and tries again. “When Chris told me that you had forgotten, along with how upset you were, I thought… you might not want to see me?”

“What?” Yuuri squeaks, sitting up straighter.

Victor shakes his head. “I didn’t realize that I’d been keeping that from you, and I didn’t know what that meant to you for you to act like that, and I couldn’t ask, so I figured it might be best to give you time. I did say you could come, and I was hoping, but I never expected, and—”

“Victor.” Yuuri leans forward a little bit, eyes wide. “Are you _nervous_?”

“Yes.” He lets out the word in a breath, wilting. “I thought that I wouldn’t see you again, and you _came_.”

“Why did you think I’d be angry when I was the one who insulted you?” Yuuri gapes at him.

Victor _grins_ , big and dopy. “Yes, you did, and it was wonderful.”

Yuuri’s cheeks burn, his mind spinning. “Why would that ever be remotely good, much less wonderful?”

“Because no one else would dare insult me other than Yakov, whose job it is to do so, and Yurio, who never actually means it despite insisting he does. It had been so long since someone talked to me so frankly, treated me like I was something other than the Chef, Victor Nikiforov.” He scowls, saying his own name like it’s a curse.

“B-but I would never say that to you sober!” Yuuri splutters out, unsure if he’s defending himself or not.

“Of course not, I know you better now.” Victor reaches out into the small gap between them, hesitating halfway. Yuuri balances the box, closing the gap and taking his hand. Victor beams. “Just like I hope you know me a bit better, as well?”

Yuuri gives a small nod. “Yeah. Now I can say that your bread’s, well, adequate.”

Victor laughs, an ugly guffaw. “I still have a lot to learn, don’t I?”

Yuuri nods, trying to keep his grin from splitting his face. “Your apprenticeship is nowhere close to ending. In fact, I’m not sure you’ll ever be able to be done with it.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that sounded like a proposal.” Victor leans in a little closer.

Yuuri moves forward too, his heart threatening to break out from between his ribs. “Maybe it is. Maybe I never want you to leave.”

Victor sucks in a breath. “Really?”

The lightness in Yuuri’s limbs makes a sudden retreat, leaving his skin a little clammy. “I-I mean, you can stay as long as you want, forever even, but you don’t have to.”

Victor laughs, but it’s soft this time. “If anything, coming back here reminded me of how much I hate it. I would happily stay with you forever.”

“Really?” Tears prick at the corners of Yuuri’s eyes, the worry gone as quick as it crashed in.

Victor nods. “No one and no place compares to you.”

He leans even closer, Yuuri mimicking and—

The box topples off his lap and across the floor, muffins rolling out and leaving a crumby trail in their wake.

“Oh, I brought those!” Yuuri springs forward, reaching out to grab one as the globes of light begin to seep from them and into the room around them. “I-I was worried you wouldn’t want to see me, and you know muffins being so honest about emotions, I thought if I could show you—”

A hand gently grabs his arm, pulling him up.

Victor’s eyes are so very bright and just as breathtaking as ever as his eyelids flutter shut, pulling Yuuri close and finally, _finally_ pressing their lips together.

The muffin rolls out of Yuuri’s hand as he lifts his arms around Victor’s shoulders and very happily comes to the conclusion that, yes, Victor’s lips are as soft as they look.

Too soon, Victor pulls away and grins at Yuuri. “Let’s go home.”

 

* * *

 

A year later, Yuuri still can’t believe his luck.

Not for the increased business to the inn, though that helps. Having Victor and often Yurio around has turned business booming, not to mention all the friends of Victor’s that come to stay from time to time after he apparently sung Yu-topia’s praises when he visited Yurio in the castle. Even Yakov showed up once—but Yuuri will be happy to never have to deal with him and that judgment ever again.

Not the little puppy that nips at his heels as he comes home from running at the beach. Makkachin was more of an accident than something he and Victor went out and meant to do, but who can leave a stray puppy in the road? Especially not one with such wide eyes and soft fur and an even gentler disposition.

Not the fact that Phichit was able to go and open his own restaurant. Though it makes the kitchen empty in an odd way as Yuuri walks in. He’ll get to visit Phichit soon, go outside of the capital for the first time since he was a child, and he won’t be going alone. It will be fun, an adventure that he’s actually looking forward to instead of dreading, for once.

No, he’s lucky because Victor turns and smiles at him like he hangs the sun in the sky, like they hadn’t seen each other in weeks instead of maybe an hour, and how he leans down to kiss Yuuri’s sun-warmed cheeks like there’s nothing in the world that could be better.

“Busy day?” Yuuri manages to ask, giggling.

“Mm-hm,” Victor hums, lips still pressed to Yuuri’s skin. “But, I still managed to find time to make you katsudon.”

“What?” Yuuri pulls away, meeting Victor’s eyes. “My mom taught you?”

He grins, bright and heart-shaped with crinkles around his eyes. “She said that it’s a family recipe, after all.”

 

Fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like one of my first notes for this story was, “END WITH VICTOR MAKING KATSUDON FOR YUURI.” So here we are! The end! What even!?! I feel like I mentioned this before, but I was in a really, _really_ horrible place when I started writing this. I hated writing, but I’m miserable if I don’t write, and fanfic had been a huge comfort for me, so I dipped my toe in. I expected maybe five people would read this, tops, and to have so much support is amazing beyond words. Thank you all for reading, commenting, leaving kudos, and generally make writing worth something to me again. *grovels*
> 
> Okay, I could honestly spend a few thousand words EASY rambling on about how much you all and this random story with terrible world building means to me, but I don’t want to bore you guys. XD So! Before I peace out, I want to let you know what’s coming up next.
> 
> Right now I’m working on another longer fic for the Victuuri fluff bang that I think anyone who liked this might be a fan of (I’m sworn to secrecy about the premise atm, but it’s almost already finished!), and I’m in the Ice Adolescence zine and signed up for Okaeri, so I need to get those knocked out—unfortunately, at the end of the year I’m going to be starting a job that will probably suck my creative soul dry, so everything with a deadline needs to get done before then. But after I get those wrapped up… I’m starting my Hades and Persephone AU. *wiggles eyebrows* So if you enjoyed my brand of word vomit, you can subscribe to my [user profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazul9/) for more in the future!
> 
> If you want to know more about future projects—or this one!— feel free to poke me over on [Tumblr](http://kazul9.tumblr.com/) (where I’ll probably scream about them as well), or hit me up on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Kazul9)! (ETA: I also have a Discord server now! It's pretty quiet, and the few of us that are active are mostly just a bunch of dorks, [so feel free to join.](https://discord.gg/hmvKrGp) :D) Once again thank you to Blue for having better English skills than me most days, and thank YOU for reading this baking nonsense. I hope you enjoyed it! <3
> 
> Bacon, out.


End file.
